In Vein
by couchbarnacle
Summary: John's a vampire with a dark past. Will Sherlock help him or hurt him? SLASH. M/M, Non-con.
1. Chapter 1

On paper, it seemed tactically sound. The casualty numbers from this part of the war were becoming increasingly unacceptable over the past twelve months and any type of assistance seemed preferable to wasting more lives on such a cursed, barren stretch of desert. It wasn't a hasty decision by any means. The topic was debated heatedly for months with specialists giving testimony and consultants running data analyses regarding potential candidates. The red tape of bureaucracy was flawless and impeccable.

It was the practical application that was utterly flawed.

Not saying that the candidate that they chose, one John Hamish Watson, wasn't the best recommendation. On the contrary, his character, a unique and potent combination of courage, stability, loyalty, and intelligence, placed him as the preferential candidate leaps and bounds ahead of anyone else vetted by the committee. Not only was he emotionally and mentally suited for the trial, but the fact that he was a Medic was also highly preferable.

So, while the paper-pushers signed their names with a smug flourish as a comment to their own genius, John Watson: Doctor, Soldier, and All-Around-Decent-Bloke, was assaulted, kidnapped, and killed…in a manner of speaking.

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Mycroft frowned as he glanced over the mostly-redacted file of Doctor John Watson. It was true that, while he only held a small position in the British Government, there were very few documents that he could not simply make a call and have the original, un-edited document on his desk within a few hours. However, this file was unbreakable and his contacts, carefully picked and nurtured of the entirety of his career, were unable to crack this level of security.

Mycroft was not wholly upset by this. The first eight years of Doctor Watson's military career were not confidential. It was only the last two years of service that was covered with thick, black markings making ninety-five percent of the document unreadable. The truly curious aspect was how much thicker the final two years of his service was compared to first eight. Despite this obvious gap, Mycroft Holmes was confident in the suitability of this man as a flatmate for his younger brother.

Mycroft set aside this little problem for another time. He still had that incident in Yemen to clear up and the arrival of the Peruvian delegation. Mycroft mentally filed the case of Doctor Watson far back into his cranium. When he had a spare minute or two, he would solve this little mystery but right now it was not of import.

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"_Watson!" Murray screamed from behind an outcropping of rocks at the base of a small hill that was currently being peppered by bullets from all sides, "Get Sawyer!"_

_Watson didn't need to be told twice. He slipped from his current position in the branches of a stunted tree and slipped swiftly and silently through the landscape dodging the bullets with ease. He quickly located Private Sawyer and began to bandage the bullet wound that had pierced a lung causing him to drop like a ton of bricks before finding cover with the rest of his unit. Within fifteen seconds, the wound was secured and Watson had lifted Sawyer and made a beeline for the rocks to join Murray and the rest of the men. With all of the men accounted for, Murray began issuing a much-needed retreat having two men take Sawyer and ordering Watson to guard their retreat. Watson deftly checked his firearm and dropped back as the other men fell into the familiar habits of training operations. Watson was last, of course. Watson was always last now. It only made sense considering._

_Inside of twenty minutes, the men were on the chopper and making their way back to base. Sawyer would survive; live to fight another day and all that jazz. The men cleaned up, grabbed some sustenance, and cleaned their equipment before falling happily into their beds to sleep off the adrenaline and stress. _

_Watson's routine was a bit different. After seeing that Sawyer was set up in the infirmary to his satisfaction, he stumbled to the portable refrigeration unit that housed their transfusion provisions. Signing the necessary paperwork, he pulled out three pints of A positive, exited the infirmary, crouched out of sight, and sucked every last drop from the bags. _

"_You really shouldn't go two weeks between feedings, love." A voice purred from behind him._

_John jumped. He hadn't heard Henry arrive. Even with his enhanced senses, he never heard Henry sneak up behind him._

"_There was no time." John said quietly. "Between looking out for enemy fire and caring for the wounded, I just haven't had time."_

"_You look out for them, love." Henry said crouching next to John and pulling him close, "But it is my job to look out for you. Don't let it happen again."_

"_Yes, Henry." John said feeling the words whisper past his lips of their own volition._

"_I thought I told you to stop by my tent last night." Henry said simply._

"_I'm sorry." John answered. "I wanted to check on the men in the Infirmary and I just ran out of time."_

"_Don't let it happen again."_

"_Yes, Henry." _

"_Come to bed, John." Henry breathed lightly into his ear letting the tips of his teeth scrape roughly against his temple._

"_Yes, Henry." John sighed, feeling goose bumps of pleasure cascade across his skin. He let Henry pull him up and away from the Infirmary. John had his own bunk with the Unit but more and more frequently Henry was calling him to his own tent on the outskirts of the camp. He glanced at Henry after falling into step slightly behind and to Henry's right (as was proper, of course). Henry was beautiful. Tall and lean with golden skin and shockingly green eyes. He radiated power like the desert sun did heat. John was drawn to him like a moth to flame. _

_They had entered Henry's tent and John was feeling the pleasant feeling of warmth from the blood coursing softly through his veins. He undressed down to his pants quickly, hearing Henry do the same, and was about to slide into the sheets when Henry laid a hand on John's shoulder. Glancing at the Vampire that created him with confusion, he saw a dark light cross those already blown pupils and shuddered involuntarily._

"_You _belong_ to me, John." Henry said, "You're _mine_."_

"_I know." John said meekly._

"_Do you?" Henry said pushing John down onto the bedding with force before crawling on top of him and pinning him with his knees. "You seem to confuse what you have to do and what I let you do."_

"_No," John said lying still on the sheets. "I'm just trying to do my job. You told me to do my job."_

"_You're job is to do as I say." Henry purred before gripping one of John's nipples with his sharp teeth and biting. John's gasp of pain went unheeded as Henry made little nicks and cuts up and down John's chest before licking the wounds clean._

"_Yes, Henry." John answered dutifully. He couldn't control these responses. He never could. The compulsion placed on the creation of a Vampire was unbreakable. He had to obey. He had to do as Henry said. It wasn't ever a question of wanting to or not. There was only ever, "Yes, Henry."_

"_Tonight," Henry said nuzzling John's neck softly. "I'm going to make you mine in the most biblical sense of the word."_

_Henry shredded John's pants with a flick of the wrist and shoved him onto his stomach thrusting his legs apart and up roughly before getting into position with his suddenly hard cock pressed heavily against John's unprepared entrance._

"_I'm not ready…" John wheezed through tight lips feeling panic rise in his throat. "You said that you would wait until I was ready."_

_Henry's eyes were crazed with emotion as he stared down at John with a gleeful smirk, "That was before you forgot your place, love. You're _mine_! It's time you fulfilled that role."_

_With his speech concluded, he roughly shoved John's shredded pants into his mouth to muffle the screams as Henry shoved forcefully into John._

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"John's mine." Sherlock said with a wry grin.

"What?" John demanded darkly, whipping around to face his flatmate.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose with the ferocity that was emanating from John, "I was just telling Lestrade that you're my doctor. Is something wrong, John?"

John felt the rage trickle away, "No, sorry. I'm just tired."

They were standing inside a dimly lit corridor where the body of a pimp was sprawled covered in kitty litter and lacerations. It wasn't the strangest case that they had been called in on, but it wasn't normal by any definition of the word. The rate of absorption of the kitty litter was making cause and time of death hard to determine. Sherlock, of course, had deduced the details of the death with astonishing speed and pizzazz. John would have been more impressed if he wasn't starving and starting to perspire with need.

Lestrade's face remained neutral but his eyes fixed to John and he felt the entire exchange being recorded mentally by both the consulting detective and the DI. He'd been out of Afghanistan for three months and he still jumped at shadows.

"Right," Lestrade said evenly. "Well, it's three in the morning. We can finish up here unless there is anything else you have for us."

"No." Sherlock answered simply still keeping an eye on John. "Let's go."

They walked out of the rundown building into the night and Sherlock gestured to a passing cab but John stood hesitantly back, "You go."

"What?" Sherlock asked confused.

"I just need to clear my head." John stuttered. "Sorry. I'll see you back at the flat."

With that, John turned on his heel and walked into the rain letting the darkness of London creep into his bones. As he heard the taxi rumble off and he felt far enough away from the crime scene to be unnoticed, he broke into a sprint that would put Olympians to shame. He certainly wasn't the first vampire to be working for the government throughout the city. After he'd been discharged from the Army, they had shown him a series of access points for others like him throughout the city to accommodate his less than legal hemoglobin needs. Sherlock may have all of London memorized, but John could orient himself to any blood center by locating the nearest Tube station. Ten minutes and two pints of blood later, he was sated enough to let normalcy seep into his bones.

After he was sated, he felt the night calling to him. He wasn't ready to go back to the flat and try to explain away his irritability that evening. Sherlock may only be human, but his intelligence and attentiveness always made John feel a little exposed. Along with John's abrupt exit from humanity, he also had acquired a love of danger that bordered on the imbecilic. Living with a man like Sherlock, John was practically daring his flatmate to discover his secret and that sent adrenaline flooding deliciously through his veins. He wouldn't even think of what might happen to him if Sherlock figured him out. Sherlock was basically the only person he had. He wouldn't let himself involve his family into his shitty new existence for their safety, he hadn't stayed in touch with anyone prior to his deployment, and after everything with Henry…well, he was loathe to interact with any of his own kind.

Remembering Henry made John's stomach clench with panic. Painful memories lapped at his subconscious as he wandered aimlessly through the streets letting the city claim his senses. This part of London was crowded with people leaving plays, catching films, clubbing, etc. There were people eating, screaming, running, laughing, lounging, grinning. It was almost the entire spectrum of human emotions contained within a one mile radius. John was always struck by how much he yearned to be a part of these gatherings. Completely absorbed, yet completely autonomous. He wasn't human anymore, but that didn't stop him from wanting it so badly.

And there were so many things that hadn't changed for him. He could still eat what he liked (he just had to supplement his diet with blood every week), he slept when he liked (being "dead to the world" was just a bit more literal than it used to be), he was able to enjoy the sun (it just made his skin tingle a bit with prolonged exposure), and nothing had physically changed about him (minus a sharp set of fangs that made themselves known when he was particularly hungry). Despite his circumstances, John was more than willing to make the best of his situation and lead an abnormal, satisfying existence.

He didn't even feel particularly upset with the Army. While being asked to become an undead freak was preferable to how they actually went about it, John had saved so many more people as a Vampire than he ever could as a regular medic. He was faster, stealthier, and more resilient making it exponentially easier to get a wounded soldier from the front lines to a chopper and back to the base. No, he didn't hate the Army. Henry wasn't their fault. He had fooled everyone: the committee, the consultants, the experts, John. And when John really needed their help, when he was battered and bruised and broken, the Army had gotten him out. Out from under Henry's compulsion. Distance was all John needed. If John stayed far enough away, then Henry could never affect him like that again. He would never find himself unable to make his own choices or forced into situations that he had no chance of removing himself from.

Right now, right here, John was happy. Happy with this city, his job, his flat, his flatmate. He was happier now than he had been in over a year. He could live like this forever, which, for John, was a distinct possibility. Shortly after four in the morning, John found himself back at Baker Street. The tension that had radiated off of him like a tidal wave had faded and he felt nothing but full and sleepy as he let himself into his home and up the stairs to his room. He could hear Sherlock wailing away discordantly on his abused violin as he brushed his teeth, changed into pajamas bottoms, and crawled into his sheets letting a sigh past his lips as he dropped into sleep.

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"John Fucking Watson!" Bill Murray bellowed at the other end of the coffee house. "How the hell are ya?"

Bill quickly closed the distance between them and pulled John into a crushing hug. Bill Murray was his Unit Officer in Afghanistan. He was brave, intelligent, and incredible under pressure. That is where the similarities between Bill and every other Officer that John had ever met had ended. Bill was like a giant teddy bear, determined to fix every emotional qualm in any of his men with a bone-crushing hug and a fifth of whiskey. He was a giant guy at 6'5" with broad, heavily muscled shoulders and legs like tree trunks.

"Murray?" John gasped happily. "I didn't know that you were back! Why didn't you call?"

"Not technically back really." He answered finally dropping John back to the floor. "Just on a bit of an intelligence mission."

"I don't understand." John said trying to read the expression on his friend's face.

"I got promoted!" Bill said with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"That's great, Bill." John answered confused by his reaction. "What is everyone else up to? I haven't heard from anyone in ages."

"They all got promoted." Bill said his voice a bit more subdued now. "After everything…well, everyone got transferred."

John felt guilt clench his stomach as the memories tried to demand his attention, "Oh, right."

"Everything?" A cool voice asked from behind him. Sherlock. Shit.

"Sherlock," John said, trying for a relaxed smile. "This is one of my old Army buddies, Bill Murray. We served together in Afghanistan before I was discharged. Bill, this is my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes."

Bill grinned and held out his hand. "Cheers."

Sherlock returned the shake before repeating his question, "What exactly do you mean 'after everything'?"

Bill's face darkened a bit before replying evenly, "That's classified."

John watched as Sherlock's eye brows rose slightly before relaxing back into a bored expression. John turned back to Bill with a grin, "So, how long are you back for? Do you have time one night to catch a drink?"

"Can we talk privately for a moment, John?" Bill said glancing at Sherlock.

"Of course," John answered. "Give me just a second, Sherlock."

He followed Bill outside of the shop around the corner and into an alleyway. John could feel Bill's pulse increase as he turned to face him once again. Looking at Bill's expression, John's stomach dropped painfully.

"He came back." Bill said, his jovial voice gone. "I'm actually here to update you."

"He knows I'm in London?" John said feeling air wheeze in and out of his lips.

"No." Bill said firmly. "He went back to base in Afghanistan. He doesn't know where you are but he's looking. It was my job to come to London and let you know."

"How many people did he hurt, Bill?" John said softly.

"John…" Bill began.

"No!" John answered feeling his stability fray dangerously and his fangs descend. "How many?"

"Seven." Bill said avoiding John's gaze. "But once he realized that you weren't at the base, he left pretty quickly."

John began panting uncontrollably.

"You have to calm down!" Bill barked with authority. "You've vamped out. Get yourself together, Watson."

John began dragging heaps of oxygen in and out of his lungs to reverse his panic. Bill was right about one thing, he couldn't leave the alleyway like this. What Bill meant was that John's fangs were protruding from his top lip and his eyes had gone blood red from lid to lid. He looked like a monster…well, he technically was anyway but he preferred not to be reminded of it when he looked in the mirror. After several minutes of deep breathing, he felt calm surround him and he was able to revert to his usual facial features.

"John," Bill said gently resting a hand on his shoulder. "You should be fine here. The last place that Henry will look is London. We have eyes on him and we will be able to notify you if we feel like he is heading anywhere near the Island. Alright?"

"Alright." John said leaning heavily into Bill. "Thank you."

"What else is family for?" Bill said with a ruffle to John's fringe. "Now, tell me about this Sherlock bloke. How long have you been shagging?"

"What?" John reeled back. "I don't know what you mean. We're not. It's not like that…"

Bill gave him a knowing look and said smugly, "I may not be able to hear a pin drop from several blocks away, but I can feel the heat of attraction between two people."

"It's not like that, Bill." John said. "I can't…He doesn't…I can't do that to him."

"What are you on about, Watson?" Bill said confused.

"I'm dangerous enough to him as it is." John said wearily. "I could hurt him, Bill."

"John," Bill said firmly. "You are the most composed, careful vampire I have ever met. You wouldn't hurt him. Not ever."

"You can't know that." John said glancing away. "And I can't risk it."

"I want you to be happy, John." Bill said. "You deserve it."

"I'm a monster, Bill." John said wryly. "What I deserve is a stake to the chest and a desecrated grave."

"Don't talk like that." Bill said firmly. "You're one of the best men I know. You're not a monster."

Bill's phone suddenly trilled loudly and Bill flipped it open deftly. "Yeah. Of course. Be there in twenty."

"You're off then?" John asked.

"Yeah." Bill said with a grin. "Duty calls. I have to catch a flight back in a few hours."

"It was so good to see you." John said. "And thank you for updating me."

"My pleasure, John." Bill said once again pulling him into a tight embrace. "See you soon, yeah?"

"Hopefully." John said. "Take care, Bill."

"You too." Bill said with a wave heading down further into the alley at a jog.

John watched him go with a smile and whispered to himself, "Bill Fucking Murray."

He turned and headed back toward the shop and dropped down in the booth across from his flatmate.

"I ordered your usual," Sherlock said not looking up from his phone.

"Thanks." John said happily. "So, what are we doing at this particular coffee house?"

"The suspect comes here each day and orders a Soy Latte with a raspberry shot." Sherlock answered.

"And how do you know that it is this particular shop?" John asked.

"This particular shop uses a unique type of raspberry flavoring consistent with the small stain that was on the victim's tie. Obviously, considering the approximate distance of the attack from this location and the viscosity of the stain, the cup had a small dribble of the raspberry flavoring and brushed up against the victim's tie. Only explanation."

"Brilliant." John murmured into his coffee. John felt his heart stammer hurriedly as Sherlock glanced up and fixed him with a warm smile.

"John!" Sherlock called bounding up the stairs. "It's Christmas!"

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"It's April." John answered but smiled as well enveloped in his friend's contagious mood. He was fixing a cup of tea as Sherlock whirled around the corner to stand near him by the stove. The grin set firmly on Sherlock's face of sinful. He was effervescent like this, glowing with energy and warmth. John felt his pulse increase rapidly.

"Solved the case." He said gleefully. "That was the most fun I've had in ages."

"So, how do you want to celebrate?" John said.

Sherlock's gaze froze him against the countertop and John had to swallow heavily as Sherlock stalked closer, "I can think of a few ideas."

Before John could even take another breath, Sherlock's mouth had covered his firmly. The kiss was warm and soft but insistent. John shuddered lightly as Sherlock nipped at his bottom lip gently. John licked tentatively at Sherlock's upper lip and felt Sherlock shudder in return as their tongues danced happily against one another. Sherlock had placed his hands protectively around John's waist while John cradled Sherlock's head and played with the unruly curls at the back of his neck.

And John KNEW that he should stop this and he KNEW that it was dangerous. It had been weeks since his talk with Murray but the thought process was still the same. He could hurt Sherlock, reveal himself, vamp out in front of him, scare him. But the only resistance he put up came when Sherlock became placing a line of molten hot kisses down his throat.

"I thought you were married to your work." John gasped heavily.

"Marriage is over-rated." Sherlock growled softly pulling John closer until they were flush against each other. John could feel Sherlock's erection straining eagerly against his own. He bucked his hips unconsciously and heard Sherlock moan deeply into his collarbone. "Your room?"

"Oh god, yes." John groaned. He turned, flicked off the kettle, and practically ran after Sherlock up to his room. Their mouths crashed together as the urgency of their arousal forced them past the point of politeness. John practically ripped Sherlock's clothes off in his hurry to connect more fully to that warm skin. Sherlock wasn't much more careful with John's. Within seconds, they were down to nothing but their pants. Sherlock hovered over John as he lay on his back cradling his flatmate's hip.

"John," Sherlock panted heavily. "I want this. So badly. Please tell me you want this too."

"I do." John answered pulling him down to kiss him passionately. "I want this so much, but I'm not ready…for that…yet."

Sherlock grinned like a kid on Christmas and kissed him fiercely, "Whenever you're ready, John. Right now, I just want to feel you."

John felt a wave of tension leave his body and pulled Sherlock down against him grinding his hips in the process. Sherlock moaned with pleasure as John whispered in his ear, "Go on then. Lube's in the top drawer. I need you against me, now."

Sherlock reared back and whipped off his pants and then helped John out of his. He pulled the lube out and applied a little to both his and John's erection. They didn't need much; they were both leaking pre-cum pretty liberally at this point. John moaned heavily as Sherlock lay over him once more and began grinding in earnest. John felt his thoughts scattered as the warm weight in his lower stomach dropped lower and lower. All he could feel was Sherlock's skin against his own, the pressure of their lust grinding smoothly and quickly on his stomach. All he could smell was the wonderful combination of scents that was Sherlock and sweat and sex. All he could taste was Sherlock's mouth and skin. All he could hear was Sherlock's moans and groans as pleasure raced through him burning hotly. And all he could see was Sherlock. His blown pupils, his open mouth, his shuddering breaths, his face contorted in such bliss that it made John moan all the louder in response. Soon the rhythm of their movements became erratic and staggered. John came with Sherlock's name on his lips and Sherlock followed quickly shouting John's name before collapsing onto top of him and panting heavily.

Sherlock rolled over and off him before placing a kiss lightly to his temple. He reached down onto the floor and wiped them off using his pants. Sherlock curled around John protectively and pulled him close. John dropped gratefully into unconsciousness feeling his flatmate's pulse gently against his chest.

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John woke up alone several hours later with a slight feeling of panic tugging at his brain. He just had a mutual wank and grinding session with his flatmate. Not just any flatmate either. An overly observant flatmate with sociopathic tendencies and a penchant for getting bored easily. He remembered what Sherlock had said before they completely bared it all, "I want this. So badly". But people said all kinds of crazy things when overwhelmed by horniness and erections. It was entirely possible that what Sherlock really meant was that he wanted someone in his bed because he was horny but didn't want anything other than a one-off. John felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment. God, all of the noises he had made. He was almost nauseous with the idea of encountering his flatmate today. But the idea of not seeing Sherlock today was worse.

Now that John had gotten a taste of his outrageous friend, he wanted him again. He wanted him so badly his heart ached. He needed to feel those warm hands caressing his hips, needed his hair tickling his chin, and his pulse beating lightly against his chest. He needed to feel Sherlock's arousal against him and, surprisingly enough, in him. He never thought he would want to go there with a man again after Henry and John wasn't saying that he would be comfortable with it anytime soon, but the urge was still there. The desperate need of it pushing against his bad memories and anchoring itself in his mind. But for any of that to happen, Sherlock actually needed to want it in return.

He sighed finally and pulled himself out of bed. John had always been brave and he wasn't going to stop now. He'd meet this new development head on, that is, after a long shower and armored protectively in a warm jumper. Within twenty minutes he was making his way slowly downstairs to the common area, he glanced around finally realizing that Sherlock wasn't actually in the flat.

John often kept his extra-sensory perceptions locked up tight. Like everything else about being a Vampire, it was relatively easy to separate out his new abilities with his old. With a thought, he could contain almost everything extraordinary and regain his average, pre-Henry life. Ninety-five percent of the time he chose to be completely normal, completely ordinary. It made him feel grounded and whole. He just shut everything else off. Today, however, curiosity got the best of him. He took a deep breath and shed his humanity. By scent, he knew that Sherlock had been gone for at least two hours which meant that he had left John just a half hour after they had both come: Slipping from his bed, showering (the smell of Sherlock's shampoo was overwhelming), and leaving within ten minutes.

He locked his senses back up tight and felt something burrow uncomfortably in his ribcage. Yeah, definitely a one-off.

He needed air. He grabbed his jacket and disappeared out into the twilight that was surrounding London. He needed to disappear for a while.

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Sherlock grimaced as he closed the door to 221b Baker Street. Mycroft had to contact him now of all times. He had to ask for the favor from that particular incident now, just minutes after being with John. That utter prat. Sherlock did let a smile flicker across his features as he remembered John's face and body wonton and aroused beneath him. He'd been trying to stifle those particular desires for months now but the need had been too much standing in their kitchen that afternoon. His heart swelled as a sense of peace washed over him. He wasn't sure what to expect when he kissed John, but the enthusiastic response in return was like music to his ears. Sherlock was unsure of the future for him and his flatmate. He didn't know what John would want or expect, but Sherlock had come to the conclusion as he felt John tense around him as his orgasm crashed through his body that this intimacy was something Sherlock would want to experience again and again.

He pulled out his mobile and looked at the text again.

_Time to pay up, brother dear. Dr. Watson doesn't need to be woken up for this. Regent Park. 40 minutes. MH_

Sherlock hurried toward the park. The sooner he was done playing errand boy for his insufferable brother, the sooner he could get back to John and the wonderful sounds he makes as he comes.

Sherlock found him sitting on a bench surrounded discreetly by seven different security personnel.

"Brother dear." Mycroft said, as Sherlock sat next to him on the bench.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked dryly.

"You'll receive a call from DI Lestrade in about twenty minutes." Mycroft began without preamble. "Messy business, really. I just need you to turn a blind eye on a few footprints on the south side of the house."

"You want me to protect a killer?" Sherlock asked.

"Goodness, no." Mycroft said with a chuckle. "The footprints aren't of the killer. They're of the man who killed the killer. We just don't want that particular knowledge to be found out. You'll no doubt easily identify the actual killer, but, unfortunately, there will be no trace of him. Fled the country most likely."

"Can't you clean up after your spooks yourself?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"He's not one of mine." Mycroft said. "It's a favor for a friend. I won't put any of my own people in danger, but having you conveniently not notice will clear everything up quite nicely."

"And why couldn't we discuss this over the phone?" Sherlock asked.

"Because then Dr. Watson would have accompanied you to the crime scene."

"So?"

"He may not be intelligent like us, but he is still observant enough." Mycroft said evenly. "No, your Doctor must sit this one out I'm afraid. It shouldn't take you more than a day to get it all cleared up."

"And then we're even?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Yes," Mycroft said with a grin. "Completely even. Problem?"

"I'm a bit surprised is all." Sherlock said. "Doesn't seem like an extremely big favor."

"Well, it's what I need."

"Fine. Done."

"Thank you." Mycroft answered. "Have a good day, Sherlock."

Mycroft left quickly after that. Sherlock watched as his security fell back and away from the park. He decided to wait at the park for the call from Lestrade. He was just about to send a text to John about returning later when Lestrade phoned.

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Sherlock dragged himself up the stairs approximately twenty eight hours after he had left the flat the day before. It was close to midnight so he was 73% sure that John would be in bed already. He had a quick shower and decided the only thing he wanted to do right now was curl up against his flatmate and breathe in his scent. He went to his room, changed into a pair of bottoms and a light t-shirt, and crossed the hall to enter John's room. He froze in the doorway as he looked at the empty bed confused. He had sent John several texts over the past day. John knew that Sherlock would be returning tonight so why wasn't he in the flat? He decided to sleep in John's room anyway. If it was anything truly important, John would have sent him a text. He drifted to sleep curled in John's sheets.

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"Ah, look." Mycroft said happily. "All healed. You can go now. I've taken the liberty of replying to Sherlock's many inquiries for you. Please be sure to read them over before returning home."

John grabbed his t-shirt and jumper dressing quickly before grabbing his phone and practically running from the building. All he wanted to do was go home, but he had to make a stop first. The procedure had drained him of blood and he wanted to take care of the ache in his belly before heading back. He thought about the past twenty-four hours as he headed for the nearest blood center.

_John walked for about an hour before a black car slid to a stop in front of him. Anthea got out and motioned for him to enter. He slid into the car and watched the city as they wove through traffic. It was almost ten in the evening but London rarely ever slept. There was always so much going on. They pulled up outside a squat building in one of the sketchier parts of town. Anthea escorted him into the building and down a dimly lit hallway. She motioned to a door on the left and he entered it carefully. Mycroft was there sitting at a conference table. He didn't notice the square of pure silver before the door clicked behind him acting as the fourth side of the square. He felt the familiar tingles run up and down his spine as the metal throbbed at his presence._

"_I've made an interesting discovery, John." Mycroft said rising from his chair and stalking toward the ex-army medic._

_John said nothing as the purifying silver began to leech at his energy. This small amount of silver would take awhile to drain him completely of energy but it still felt like a thousand needles against his skin. _

"_Your service file was an interesting read." Mycroft continued. "It took some huge favors to get the original documents but I must say that it was worth it to find out the truth about you."_

"_What do you want?" John asked quietly._

"_You're a monster, John." Mycroft said simply stopping right outside of the silver. "A monster that is sleeping with my brother. What do you think I want?"_

"_If you read my file, then you know exactly what happened to me, Mycroft." John said tiredly. "It wasn't my choice." _

"_I'm aware of that." Mycroft said. "I know all about your change, your success rate, your control. That's exactly why I haven't just had you beheaded and burnt."_

_John jerked his head at that last sentence. _

"_Yes, John." Mycroft said with a dark grin. "I know all about your kind. You're not the first vampire created for the use of the British Government. I have been aware of your kind for decades actually. Vampires are such an open secret, aren't they? Almost everybody knows. But the truth is the amount of vampires is woefully over-estimated. Turning a human is extremely difficult fraught with danger and the success rate is under 2%. That lower birth rate and the amount of infighting and power games that your kind enjoy so much mean that there are actually less than 10,000 vampires in the entire world. Hardly anything to start a war over that's for sure."_

"_So what exactly am I doing here then?"_

"_It's like I said," Mycroft continued. "You're not the first vampire under the control of this country. You are, however, the first monster to have any contact with my brother let alone live with him. You can see why I would be concerned."_

"_I would NEVER hurt him." John said loudly. _

"_Forgive me if I don't take the word of a monster as gospel." Mycroft said tightly._

"_So, what?" John said. "You're just going to make me disappear?"_

"_No." Mycroft said evenly. "My brother would no doubt try to find you. He is rather fond of you."_

"_I'm sorry," John began. "I really don't know what you want from me."_

"_It's simple really." Mycroft began. "You want to stay with Sherlock. He wants you around. And I want a guarantee that you won't ever sink your vicious little teeth into him. If you want to stay with Sherlock, John, you have to do something for me."_

"_What's that?" John asked feeling light-headed. _

_Mycroft reached into his pocket and held up a capsule about the size of John's pinkie finger. It looked like it was made of clear plastic with a silvery liquid inside. "This is my insurance policy."_

"_Care to elaborate?" John asked again. _

"_It is a smart little invention." Mycroft said with a fond grin. "It is liquid silver nitrate encased in a specially designed casing. It is filled with enough silver nitrate to paralyze you for seven hours. More than enough time for any of my team to find you, retrieve you, and decapitate you."_

"_I'm supposed to swallow that?" John asked confused. _

"_Of course not." Mycroft scoffed. "It will be surgically embedded at the base of your spinal cord. If at ANY time, I feel like you are a serious danger to my brother, this handy capsule will be activated, crack open and release the liquid into your spinal column."_

"_I get to stay with him?" John asked hopeful. "You implant that and I get to go home?"_

"_Of course." Mycroft answered. "You don't sound too worried."_

"_I'm not." John answered simply. "Like I said, I would NEVER hurt him so I have nothing to worry about."_

"_Well, then." Mycroft said typing something on his phone. "Based on my estimation, it should take you around 23 hours for the wound to heal. We better get started."_

Mycroft had been completely right. At twenty-three hours, the incision site was completely healed without even a trace of a scar. Vampires didn't scar. Healing was quick and the only objects that ever scarred a vampire's skin were White Ash and silver. That didn't mean the surgery didn't hurt like a bitch. He'd vamped out as they peeled the skin off his lower back and secured the tube to his spinal column. He'd never seen Mycroft Holmes so much as blink disconcertingly, but he couldn't help but smile when he thought of Mycroft's stunned face when his eyes got all red.

He finished off the pints of blood and made his way back to Baker Street. He was tired and sore. All he really wanted was to curl up with Sherlock and sleep for days. He entered the flat but didn't hear Sherlock in the living area. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, shaved, and walked quickly to his bedroom. He stopped in the doorway as he stared at the figure curled up in his bed. Sherlock looked so peaceful when he slept. John didn't second guess this opportunity to curl up against his friend. He changed quickly without rousing the consulting detective and slid slowly into the bed behind Sherlock. He pulled him close against his chest and breathed in the scent letting it ease all the tension in his muscles. Sherlock stirred at the contact and turned to face John.

"Hello." Sherlock said sleepily pulling John close for a chaste kiss.

"Hi." John answered happily.

"I have questions." Sherlock said trailing kisses down John's throat. "But I would much rather ask them tomorrow."

"That sounds like a plan." John said. "Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

With a final kiss, Sherlock turned back over and let John pull him close once more. They were asleep within minutes.

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Sherlock never enjoyed sleeping. Well, it wasn't exactly sleeping that he didn't enjoy, it was the waking up. It took him forever to throw off the smothering weight of sleep. He always felt slow and muddled. Ever since he was little, his mind would betray him in the first few minutes of consciousness. He would confuse the time of day, the location he was in, and what was reality from what was in his dreams. He was at his most vulnerable when he just woken up. So, when he woke this morning being held by someone his first reaction was to jerk away with a large degree of success. He jerked so suddenly that he elbowed John roughly in the stomach before losing his balance and falling off the side of the bed. Oddly enough, this didn't wake his flatmate, but as Sherlock's brain restarted and began functioning at full capacity he realized not only what had woke him up but also why John was still asleep.

John's face was tight with pain and fear. His body was covered in sweat and his features were pale and clammy. John didn't thrash about but he shuddered repeatedly and twitched roughly. As soon as Sherlock had pulled away, John had collapsed further into himself forming a tight cocoon in the duvet. John mewled softly and tears tracked down his cheeks. Sherlock lurched back onto the bed and stroked John's face gently calling out to him.

"John!" Sherlock said. "John. You're having a nightmare. You have to wake up."

John thrashed a bit against this contact but didn't pull away.

"John." Sherlock said firmly. "Wake up."

"I'm not ready." John wheezed. "Please, Henry. I'm not ready."

Sherlock tucked this knowledge away for further study before raising his voice and grasping at John's shoulders.

"John!" Sherlock called. "Wake up! Now!"

"Yes, Henry." John answered, his voice changing to a haunting monotone before he gasped loudly and lurched forward.

"John," Sherlock said softly, once again stroking John's cheeks lightly. "John, you were having a nightmare. You're fine."

John pulled away from his flatmate and raced toward the bathroom. Sherlock heard him retching and vomiting for what seemed like ages. He heard him stumble against the sink and brush his teeth three separate times. Sherlock sat huddled near the headboard waiting for him to return. He heard him walk drunkenly back to his room holding onto door frames, side tables, and walls on his way back. He didn't look Sherlock in the eye when he entered just collapsed onto the opposite side of the bed and curled into a tiny ball.

"John," Sherlock began quietly. "Are you alright?"

He noticed that John tensed before responding, "I'm sorry. They haven't been that bad in ages."

"There's no need to apologize." Sherlock said awkwardly. "It's all fine."

John smiled lightly at the use of the phrase before sobering again. "Did I hurt you?"

"What?" Sherlock asked confused. "Of course not. I'm the one who should be asking that question."

John looked confused before Sherlock continued, "I sort of elbowed you in the stomach when I woke up."

John rubbed his stomach absently but didn't acknowledge the statement. A silence filled with tension descended on the two. Sherlock took the time to pull out that knowledge he had gained from the experience and, with little tact and no sense of appropriateness, asked the question that was plaguing his thoughts, "Who's Henry?"

Sherlock did not honestly think that it was possible for John to become any paler, but he definitely managed it. John's face flickered from confusion to anger to fear within seconds and finally settled on abject desolation. For a long time, Sherlock didn't think that John would answer but after a few minutes John did.

"He was someone I met in Afghanistan." John said evenly.

"Were you close?" Sherlock continued.

"Very." John answered honestly. There was no reason to hide this from him. He had obviously heard enough to form an educated guess.

"He doesn't sound like a very good type of person, John." Sherlock managed between clenched teeth. He wasn't sure where this anger was coming from, but he felt it deep in his chest smoldering darkly.

John smirked painfully but didn't actually reply. He didn't need to. Sherlock could read it on his face.

"Is that why you weren't ready the other night?" Sherlock asked trying to be discreet but desperate for the information.

"It's complicated, Sherlock." John said quietly.

Sherlock felt that anger boil hungrily in his gut. He knew (he was a consulting detective, of course he knew) what that man had done to John. He could read it in John's face and body language and lack of communication.

"Where is he now?" Sherlock said unable to mask the rage.

John glanced up startled at the question and the emotion behind it. "I honestly have no idea. I haven't seen him in five months."

"I could find him, you know." Sherlock said feeling the roots of a plan take hold in his head.

"Sherlock, no!" John snapped loudly. "I never want you to ever come in contact with Henry ever, at all!"

Sherlock blinked back surprised which made John deflate quickly and continue, "Henry is a part of my past. I don't want him in my future and I certainly don't want him in yours. Please, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed heavily and let his plan die untended, deleting the information quickly. He scooted close to John and laid a hand on his knee. John moved closer as well and soon they were facing each other crossed-legged on top of the duvet. John reached out and stroked Sherlock's cheekbone gently letting an echo of his normal, wry grin play across his features.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sherlock asked.

To answer, John pulled him into a deep kiss wrapping his hands around Sherlock's neck and running his fingertips through his hair. Sherlock sighed gently and leaned back pulling John on top of him. Instinctively, he knew that pining John to the mattress wasn't the best idea right now. He let John lead spending his time mirroring his flatmate's movements with his hands resting gently on John's hips. For a long time, they simply kissed. John felt anchored to the present when letting his senses analyze everything about kissing Sherlock. Finally letting the memory of Henry fall back into his subconscious, he began to kiss more urgently, letting his passions and arousal come to the forefront and smiled as he felt Sherlock respond enthusiastically.

Leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, he quickly had Sherlock out of shirt, bottoms, and pants. Sherlock was panting heavily responding to John as he swirled his tongue deliciously across his nipples. Sherlock erection was full and hard as John's lips finally teased the sensitive skin where his hip met thigh. Moaning deeply, Sherlock tried to form a coherent sentence, "John…you don't…if you don't want…it's fine."

John slid up against his skin letting the rough cloth of his shirt slide against Sherlock's penis causing him to growl from the friction. John kissed him fiercely and pulled away grinning, "Sherlock, you have no idea how much I _want_ to do this."

Shimmying back down Sherlock's body, he wrapped his hand around his penis lightly and lapped at the head warmly. Sherlock's hips jerked roughly, but John had already pinned them down with his other hand. Sherlock threw his head back and yelped as John traced a wet line from the underside of his erection to the very tip before taking as much of him as he could in his mouth. Sherlock wasn't going to last and he knew it. He hadn't had a blow job in years and he was already turned on by the extended make out session. Clutching the duvet with one hand and using his other hand to cover John's hand on his hip, he felt a deep warm weight settle in his stomach. His mind went into pleasure overload as he felt John swallow him down and suck loudly.

"John…I'm going…to…John…JOHN…OH JOHN!" And with those words Sherlock's entire body shuddered and bucked wildly as his orgasm tore through him setting every neuron on fire with pleasure. John pulled every pulse from him and gently let him go as the over sensitized flesh ached with feeling. Sherlock panted, struggling to control his breathing as John pulled his pants back up and kissed him lightly on the forehead before curling against his side. As soon as he had his body back under his control he turned to John and kissed him fiercely.

"I need to taste you. Now." Sherlock said as he traced kisses across John's jaw and throat.

John felt his thoughts fly away as the thought of Sherlock going down on him sent sparks of arousal to his already swollen erection. Sherlock did away quickly with his clothing and traced his chest with his hands before settling gently between John's thighs.

"I've never had…" John panted with want and anticipation. "I've never had a man…you know…"

Sherlock felt something dark flutter in his stomach before being washed away with pure joy. He was going to be the first man to take John this way. Determined to have it be a memorable experience, he placed a series of moist kisses from the base to the tip as John writhed beneath him. Sherlock fondled his balls while swirling his tongue against the head listening to John's breath hitch and groans issue from his gorgeous lips. John's balls were already molten and pulling up with the tension of John's impending orgasm.

"Sherlock…" John moaned. "Holy fuck. Sherlock, I'm going to…"

Sherlock took him deeply into his mouth and hollowed out his cheeks just before John's hips jerked and he flooded Sherlock's mouth with come. Sherlock lapped up any escaping fluid and slithered up to cradle John to his chest.

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"It's fine. It's all fine." John said firmly to his reflection in the mirror.

He'd received the text message an hour ago from Bill. Apparently, they had tracked Henry as far as Nepal before they lost him. They still felt that John was as protected as possible in the heart of England but they wanted to keep him informed just in case. He took in his own features as he tried to regulate his breathing once more. His mouth was a tight grim line with stress wrinkles radiating out. His skin was pale and clammy with dark bruised skin sagging from beneath his eyes which were bloodshot and droopy.

John hadn't been this stressed in his entire life. Not only was he receiving disturbing intelligence about that douche-nozzle of a Vampire, but he was also trying to juggle his job, the heightened surveillance from Mycroft which meant an increase in friendly kidnappings, his cases with Sherlock, and his complete confusion regarding his current relationship with his flatmate. It was a photo finish for which stressor claimed the number one spot for most likely thing to drive him completely batty. He'd have to go out again and get some more blood soon. His body was burning through the hemoglobin like water on a hot day. This was the fifth time in two weeks that he needed to replenish. No time like the present and all that. He finally turned away from the depressing sight and hurried back to his room to grab his wallet before heading out into the fair spring weather.

It was a gorgeous day unusual for London this time of year. Partially cloudy with a light breeze. Deciding to walk to the nearest station as opposed to using the Tube, he let his mind percolate on some thoughts that had been nagging him for weeks. Of course, it was all about Sherlock.

He thought long and hard about the physical intimacy that had sprung up between them within the last few weeks. He still had no clue what had provoked Sherlock to initiate that kiss despite devoting hours upon hours of time trying to rationalize several scenarios. He ran through them like a film reel in his head: _boredom?, excitement?, adrenaline?, attraction?, genuine affection?, love? _He wasn't complaining, of course, but he really couldn't find a motivator that fit for all of the facts. The information just didn't add up.

John wasn't a consulting detective by any means, but he would give it a go if it meant that he would give himself a bit more peace of mind. The facts were as follows:

_Sherlock had in the past four weeks initiated physical intimacy twelve times ranging from a modest snog to rutting on the couch to mutual blowjobs. _

_Sherlock never initiated intimacy outside of the flat._

_Sherlock never spoke about his "feelings" during the acts. He would declare that he needed John or wanted something but it always involved a physiological component. _

_Excluding the night of Mycroft's little procedure, Sherlock had never slept with John through the night. _

_John never caught Sherlock glancing at him from the corner of his eye, invading his personal space more than he usually did, or being more considerate of the flat's up-keep than normal._

_Sherlock certainly hadn't reined in that sharp, caustic wit of his either._

_Sherlock liked to hold John's hand as he came. He practically demanded it. In the last few seconds before his release, he would scramble around on the sheets to grasp John's hand, sigh heavily, and relax into pleasure._

_No matter where they ended up collapsing in post-coital bliss, Sherlock always shifted to John's right side so as not put pressure on John's hurt shoulder._

_In the few seconds before John drifted to sleep after their romps, Sherlock would kiss John lightly on his right temple._

John was still no closer to forming a coherent theory when his mobile buzzed.

**Case from Lestrade. Will send address shortly. SH**

John had enough time to go to the blood center, buy a pack of gum, chew seven pieces at once, and drown them with a bottle of soda before Sherlock sent the address.

He caught a cab to a swanky part of London and was shown through by one of the officers. He was headed back toward the kitchen when he heard Sherlock's voice, "There's nothing to be particularly embarrassed about, Donovan. Sexual release is a biological imperative. Now choosing Anderson as your bedfellow, now that is embarrassing."

"At least I have someone, Sherlock." She said angrily. "Nobody would ever actually care about you."

"Fucking is just fucking, Donovan." Sherlock said coldly. "Caring about the other person is irrelevant and unnecessary."

"So, you don't care about the people you sleep with?" She said sounding completely astounded.

"Of course not." Sherlock answered firmly. "That would be idiotic."

John felt something twist painfully in his gut and was just about to retreat when Lestrade came up behind him, "Watson, we're in here."

John schooled his expression expertly and entered the kitchen. Donovan had apparently exited the kitchen through another door because the only occupant of the room was Sherlock. Sherlock seemed a bit startled to see him.

"John!" Sherlock said glancing around nervously. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." John said evenly. "I made great time."

"Right." Sherlock answered attempting to read his face and failing. "Excellent. Cause of death?"

John ran through his medical analysis quickly before turning to his flatmate, "Despite the multiple stab wounds along the neck and shoulders, he definitely died of strangulation. All of the stab wounds were post-mortem."

"Thoughts?" Sherlock said still sounding a bit out of it.

"Probably inflicted the wounds to hide some sort of identifying characteristic from the strangulation." John said simply.

"Right." Sherlock answered finally pulling a sarcastic grin. "Why don't I fill you in on all of the things that Scotland Yard missed?"

"Actually," John said cutting him off. "I was shopping when you texted. I have some perishables outside. I have to get them home. Recap later?"

He glanced at John again but nodded slowly.

"Right." John said. "Bye."

John didn't care that Sherlock knew he was lying. He would never have this conversation with John in front of the Yard and he would never stop his investigations to manage any uncomfortable social situation. This gave John at least another hour before Sherlock would return to the flat. John needed some time.

He caught the Tube back to Baker Street and began processing this new information. The hardest realization about all of this was that he wasn't surprised. Hurt? Yes. Disappointed? Yes. But, surprised? Not really. John let a pained grin settle along his features. This was always possibility. The facts had never alluded to any actually feelings on Sherlock's part. Just a biological inevitability. Get horny. Have sex with flatmate. Sherlock would probably be able to pontificate for hours on the logical selection that he had made when finding sexual release with John. Given the proximity, the mutual trust, and ease of access, John was the most rational choice.

No, Sherlock didn't care about John. It seemed John was destined to be the sexual plaything of heartless men. No, that wasn't fair. He couldn't compare Sherlock to Henry. Sherlock didn't understand emotions enough to always understand the implications that his actions might have. Henry liked it.

Physiological motives aside, John was going to have to stop things with Sherlock. John was just broken enough to not want to leave Baker Street, but still had enough self-respect to demand reverting back to their previous state of being. Friends. They would just have to go back to being friends. John wasn't okay with viewing Sherlock as a convenient outlet for his horniness, so Sherlock would have to find someone else. They could go back to normal. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

By the time he came firmly to this conclusion, he was off the Circle Line and walking back to Baker Street. The lights were on in the flat upstairs but he assumed it was Mycroft coming to gloat loudly and with an impressive vocabulary over John's stupidity. With a sigh, he unlocked the door and made his way to the first floor. It wasn't until he threw the door open a little harder than expected that his senses snapped to awareness.

"Hey, love." A voice said from near the fireplace. "It's been a while."

John threw open that cranial door that held his senses locked down and began to shift quickly to run when the compulsion that he had run from before, the compulsion that he'd been free from for six months skittered sickly across his nerves, "Don't even, love. Get in here and close the door."

"Yes, Henry." John said, practically choking on the words. He glanced at the vampire and felt the bond between them stitching itself back together. Henry looked exactly the same. Those eyes gleaming with triumph and madness. His skin was flush from recently feeding and his smile was predatory.

"I've had a lot of time to think about things, John." Henry said prowling around John as he stood fixed to the center of the room like a statue. "And I've decided to forgive you. I can't really blame you for that horrible little incident in the desert, can I? You hadn't even been informed of what was going to happen until it was too late. That doesn't, however, mean that there won't be consequences for your actions."

John felt a shudder pass through his entire being at the mention of punishment. It had only ever been that one time that Henry had forced himself into John. After that night, John was meticulously careful about obeying every command, suggestion, or compulsion that Henry gave. If John behaved and proved his devotion, Henry was gentle, even loving. John never protested again and was always willing to prove his love. But the memory of his first time, made him green with nausea. The idea of that happening again was almost enough to break John. To turn him back into that mindless pleasure toy from before.

"What do you want, Henry?" John said quietly.

"You left, love." Henry answered. "You could have looked for me. Located me easily, but you didn't. That hurt. It makes me question your devotion."

"I…" John began.

"Save it." Henry snapped. "I really don't care to hear your pathetic attempts at a lie. I've come to the conclusion that you need an incentive. A reminder as to what's at stake if you decide to attempt disobedience again."

"Henry," John began. "I was wrong…"

"Your flatmate seems like a delicious fellow," Henry said changing the subject. "I wonder what his scrumptiously pale skin would look like bathed in scarlet."

John felt his blood run cold. The threat was so obvious that if Henry had beaten him over the head with it, it wouldn't have been easier to read. Of course Henry would know. The minute they were in the same room together, he would be able to pick up John's feelings for Sherlock easily. He was probably mentally flicking through John's exploits with the consulting detective at this very minute. John could practically hear the click of his cage sound around him meeting Henry's gaze, "What do I have to do?"

"You're mine, love." Henry said finally closing the gap between them to grip John's neck with both hands. "Prove it."

There was no compulsion this time. It was John's decision to make. He could turn away and begin running for his life dooming Sherlock in the process or he could commit to spending the foreseeable future with Henry. Of course, for a man like John Watson, there wasn't even a choice at all.

He rose up to kiss Henry tentatively on the lips. Henry pulled back with a dark grin, "I said 'Prove it', love. That's hardly a resounding 'yes'. Perhaps I should get Sherlock to show you how it's done?"

John felt something shrivel in his chest as he once again closed the gap between Henry and himself. He gripped Henry's shoulders and pulled their bodies flush against one another before claiming Henry's lips with his own. He felt Henry growl heavily as he responded with force. He shoved his tongue into John's mouth and wrapped an arm strongly across John's hips tilting him back painfully. John fought to simply keep up as Henry attacked him with his teeth, tongue, hands. He was reeling from the moment when he heard someone bounding up the stairs.

"John!" Sherlock called throwing open the door and then freezing suddenly.

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Sherlock froze in the entryway to their flat, his mind whirring with the sight before him. John was just breaking apart trying to extract himself from the embrace of his _friend? _with a spectacular shade of red spreading across his features when Sherlock's gaze was drawn away.

"You must be Sherlock." The man said with a jovial grin. He was gripping John at the waist in a very possessive gesture before stepping toward Sherlock to shake his hand.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge the hand; letting a cold, hard expression settle on his face, "And you are?"

"John," the man admonished lightly. "Aren't you going to do a proper introduction?"

"Yes." John answered, refusing to meet Sherlock's gaze. "Sherlock, this is my ex, Henry. Henry, my flatmate, Sherlock."

Henry either didn't notice or didn't acknowledge the anger that flickered across Sherlock's face as he laughed openly and pulled John close again, "Not ex for much longer, love. I fully intend to remedy that."

Sherlock felt something deep and dark rise from the pit of his core at the sight of this man nuzzling John affectionately in their flat. This man who had done awful things to John. And John just let him do it. Like his admission about Henry meant nothing. Like the past few weeks meant nothing. Like Sherlock meant nothing.

"Well," Henry continued. "I had better get going. I'll pick you up tomorrow for lunch around noon. You're welcome to join us, Sherlock. Walk me out, John."

"Yes, Henry." John said oddly before following him out of the flat and down to the ground floor. Sherlock felt bile rise in his throat as he heard a very enthusiastic parting from the two downstairs. He tossed his coat into the corner before collapsing onto the couch sprawled out like a mummy in wrappings.

_Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium…_

Sherlock began listing all of the elements in his head to rein in his emotions. He let his mind process and compartmentalize the last twenty minutes of his life and was more than ready to deal with the situation when John decided to join him back upstairs. At least he thought he was until he saw John's kiss-bruised lips.

Rage boiled in his gut as he turned his caustic temper on John, "He's a bit out of your league, John. You must be a spectacular lay to have kept him satisfied."

John visibly paled at Sherlock's attack and leaned heavily into the doorjamb, "Sherlock, please…"

"It's a compliment, John." Sherlock said with bite. "Your arse must be akin to Valhalla for a man like that to ever want something like you."

"Stop." John said forcefully, brushing away moisture that was threatening to pour down his face.

"No." Sherlock said angrily. "If you're going to make stupid choices, then I reserve the right to comment on them as I see fit."

"You don't even know what you're talking about." John said vehemently.

"Oh, please, John." Sherlock said dryly. "I'm a fucking genius. I always know what I'm talking about. It's your intelligence that I seemed to have over-estimated in this case."

"Just. Stop." John said, pacing across the floorboards.

"He hurt you, John." Sherlock said angrily. "If you want to be just another statistic in that sad stereotype, then go for it. I'll look forward to solving your murder when he inevitably kills you."

"You don't even care, Sherlock!" John shouted finally. "You don't even fucking care. I heard what you said to Donovan. You don't give one flying fuck about me, so please don't pretend to be affronted on my behalf."

John turned and raced up the stairs slamming the door to his room behind him. In his haste, he was unable to see the expression on his flatmate's face. Sherlock was riddled with guilt at this announcement. He had rationalized that John couldn't have overheard their conversation. There was no way that Sherlock wouldn't have heard him coming down the hallway. He threw his head back in frustration against the armrest of the sofa and felt something sick settle in the pit of his stomach.

Everything that he had said to Donovan had been one hundred percent true. Sherlock had never cared one iota for anyone he had fucked in the past. They were all just useful warm bodies for his inevitable sexual urges. So, he wasn't technically lying to Donovan. What he had conveniently left out of their conversation was how John was different. He hadn't actual fucked John so the statements still stood as factual, but everything that had happened with John felt more…personal. He was more than just physically attracted to his doctor. He was mentally and emotionally attached as well. Hell would freeze over before he would ever admit that to Sally Donovan, however.

But John had overheard and was hurt because of it. So, when his abusive ex-boyfriend just conveniently showed up to reclaim his affection, John apparently jumped at the chance. One abusive dick was as good as another. The only difference between him and Henry was the means of abuse. Henry's was physical, but Sherlock's was emotional.

Sherlock would fix this. He had too. He had to show John that he cared. Truly cared for him. Sherlock couldn't say what exactly he wanted out of his new relationship with John but he knew that it went beyond just sexual release. He needed John.

With that settled, he began rummaging around the flat for his forceps and mouthwash. John wouldn't be willing to talk for at least six hours and Sherlock always thought better when multi-tasking. Besides, Sherlock's experiment with body fat disintegration in mouthwash solution was due for a check-up.

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><em>

_Incoming Text from __**Blocked Number**_

**That's an interesting proposal. How do I know that you can follow through?**

_Incoming Text from _

**Let's just say I have a certain amount of leverage in the situation.**

_Incoming Text from __**Blocked Number**_

**How much?**

_Incoming Text from _

**1.5 million. I will, of course, be stopping by occasionally.**

_Incoming Text from __**Blocked Number**_

**How soon?**

_Incoming Text from _

**Within the week. Do we have a deal?**

_Incoming Text from __**Blocked Number**_

**1.25 million. Will not guarantee mint condition.**

_Incoming Text from _

**Deal.**

_Incoming Text from __**Blocked Number**_

**Pleasure doing business with you. M.**

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"Ow! Ow! Fuck! Ow!" Lestrade screeched holding his hand to his chest. The piles of paper assaulting his desk had finally pushed his computer onto the floor. He had tried to save it from smashing to bits on the floor but had only managed to squash his fingers in the process. He was drawn away from his pain by a small knock sounding on his doorframe.

"Lestrade?" John asked hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

"No." He answered irritated.

"Here," John said weaving through the mess on the floor and meeting Lestrade behind his desk. "Let me take a look."

Lestrade shoved his hand in front of him like a small child would a plate of vegetables and tried not to grimace as John began examining his phalanges. With a cursory glance and a few pokes here and there John gave him back his hand with a smile.

"You'll definitely have some extensive bruising," John said. "But nothing's broken."

"It still bloody hurts." Lestrade growled, once again cradling his hand to his chest. "Sherlock's not here."

"I know." John said simply. "I just wanted to have a quick word with you."

Lestrade glanced up surprised. He prayed to every deity he could think of at that moment that this had nothing to do with anything illegal Sherlock had gotten himself into. He already spent enough time with that insufferable genius as it is. Spending more time bailing his ass out was not high on Geoff's To-Do List.

"I just wanted to thank you." John said, shifting his weight back and forth without eye contact. "These last six months have been great. "

"What exactly are you on about?" Lestrade asked, confusion settling on him like a familiar friend. He never had any idea what Sherlock and his faithful colleague were talking about.

"I just know that it isn't exactly protocol for Sherlock to be let in on investigations even more so for someone like me," John continued. "I know that you put your job on the line repeatedly because of it and I just wanted to thank you properly."

"Where exactly is this coming from?" Lestrade asked carefully feeling something distinctly unpleasant gnawing at the back of his brain.

"The truth is," John said, emotion making his voice rough. "I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be around. And I wanted to thank you before then."

"Are you and Sherlock having problems?" Lestrade asked.

"No," John said. "Nothing like that. Something's come up, though, and I can't be sure when I'll have to leave."

"Well, that's unfortunate." Lestrade said. "You'll be missed. You seem like a real decent bloke. What does Sherlock think?"

"He doesn't really know yet." John said, flushing darkly. "That's the other reason I came. I need you to not tell him or anyone else for that matter that I came to speak to you."

"Do you really think you can keep something from Sherlock?" Lestrade asked doubtfully.

"I don't even think he'll notice until I'm gone." John said, Lestrade hearing a definite twinge of pain in the doctor's voice. "When I go, though, it's going to be sudden. I just needed someone to know that there is nothing to worry about. I haven't been kidnapped or disappeared. I'm only leaving."

"Okay, you're telling me not to be worried is making me worried." Lestrade said honestly.

John laughed painfully before finally meeting Geoff's eyes. "Take care of him for me?"

Lestrade nodded tightly and watched as John turned and made his way out of New Scotland Yard. Lestrade may not have superhuman perception abilities like Holmes, but he could smell one-giant-fucking-emotional-mess from a mile away. He sighed heavily before collapsing once again behind heaps of paper. It was going to be a long month.

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"You're not eating, love." Henry said sweetly, caressing John's leg under the table. John jolted from whatever reverie he had immersed himself in and dragged in a shaky breath. He focused on Henry and felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness flood through his body.

"Sorry," John answered. "Just thinking."

He tucked into his sandwich barely even aware of what was on it. Sherlock hadn't joined them mostly because he hadn't been in the flat all morning. Small mercies as far as John was concerned. The less interaction that Henry and Sherlock had, the better. He couldn't stomach the idea of them sharing the same oxygen. He threaded his fingers with Henry's under the table. It was easy, too easy in fact, for John to fall back into his routine with Henry. "So, what are our plans?"

"For the day?" Henry asked, deliberately being obtuse.

"I was thinking further out than that." John said. "I assume we're leaving town."

"I haven't really thought about it." Henry said, nibbling at his own sandwich. "Maybe Prague?"

"Prague?" John asked curiously.

"Yeah," Henry said. "I haven't been there in ages. Or Bern?"

"When are we leaving?" John asked.

"Not right away." Henry said. "I haven't been back to London for a few years, so I have some business to take care of. We should be good to go by the end of the week."

"Right." John said, feeling something tug dangerously at his heart. "Should I tell Sherlock?"

"Best not, love." Henry said bring their hands up to place a soft kiss on John's. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, I guess." John said, pushing his plate away. They strolled through a nearby park and John let himself follow Henry's lead as far as directions went. He didn't care where they were going. He didn't care about a lot of things now. It wasn't until they arrived at the entrance of a hotel that he even thought to glance around at the street signs.

"I thought we could spend some quality time together." Henry whispered in John's ear. "It's been so long. Show me how much you care."

John had known this was coming. He was surprised he'd gotten off so easily the night before. But if he wanted to keep Sherlock safe, this was definitely a necessary step. He just wished the idea of it didn't make him feel so guilty and nauseous. He followed Henry obediently to the bank of elevators and let Henry tug playfully at his belt loops as they walked down the hall to his rented room. As soon as Henry threw the bolt on the door, he had dropped the "pleasant boyfriend" demeanor and began stalking John back further into the room.

"On your knees," Henry said darkly, pupils already blown wide. "Now."

John dropped quickly and felt a firm hand at the back of his neck as he deftly unbuckled Henry's trousers. Henry sat on the edge of the bed allowing John to take off his shoes, trousers, and pants. He tossed the clothing aside and lined up with the semi-hard erection. He licked at the bulge taking the head gently into his mouth as Henry gripped his neck painfully. He began swirling his tongue quickly and felt Henry respond and begin moaning loudly. He felt the pressure on his neck change as Henry grabbed a chunk of hair at the back of John's neck, thrusting John's head forward roughly. John felt the familiar sensations return as Henry brutally fucked his mouth. He tried to relax his throat and breathing to make the whole situation easier, but the panic was rising and tears began to track silently down his face. Any noise his anguish made was covered over by Henry's panting and groaning.

Henry was close, thank god. His hips were bucking erratically and his rhythm began to stutter. With a last strong thrust of John's head onto his cock, Henry was spewing cum down John's throat. He shoved John away as he coughed and gagged leaning heavily against the opposite wall. John barely had time to regulate his breathing when he felt Henry's arms drag him back over and onto the bed.

"Shirt. Off. Now." Henry said. John complied and let Henry push him back onto the bed and drape himself over his chest. Lining up against the vein on his right elbow, Henry wasted no time in biting savagely into John's skin as he stifled a scream with his fist. There was a way to turn the pain of a bite into cascades of pleasure, but that had never been John's experience. He lay back and tried to wish away the sharp burn of the other vampire's teeth. Luckily, Henry had fed the night before so he didn't take much. He rolled off of John and went to take a shower leaving John's elbow bleeding sluggishly. John quickly licked his own elbow to start the coagulation process and curled up tightly onto the right side of the bed.

Henry slid under the sheets shortly after that and pulled John to his chest. He shoved one hand underneath John's thin jumper and possessively claimed John's hip. John lay there in emotional turmoil as Henry began to snore heavily. He thought of Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson. He thought of Lestrade and chasing criminals through alleyways. He thought of his co-workers and watching games at the Pub. But mostly, he thought of Sherlock and his genius. Sherlock's smile, his scent, his skin, his pulse. He thought of the man who didn't care and wished that he knew how much meeting him had meant to John.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft reviewed the video feeds from 221B Baker Street and the café near Hyde Park pondering his next strategic move. The arrival of this new vampire was seriously grating Mycroft's steady nerves. He was never one to act rashly so he had let the ideas percolate in his mind as he saw to the situation in Bulgaria.

From the minute that vampire had shown up, charmed Mrs. Hudson, and spoke to Dr. Watson, Mycroft saw three different potential scenarios.

He could send a team to the flat, kill both those things, and face the wrath of Sherlock. This was the most efficient option, but the ramifications for keeping his woefully unstable younger brother in line would be less than satisfactory.

He could have another little chat with Doctor Watson, demand that he vacate the flat immediately and take his abusive Creator with him. Sherlock would definitely turn his unpredictable anger on Doctor Watson once he learned about his affliction. This was less than acceptable as well. There was no doubt in Mycroft's well-developed mind that Sherlock wouldn't go chasing after that vampire for months.

He could wait. After Doctor Watson's little meeting with Lestrade and that other vampire's concession, it was obvious that they wouldn't be staying in London very long. If Sherlock was under the impression that Doctor Watson left due to a rekindling romance between him and a former lover, then Sherlock's pride would stop him from searching for him. This would leave his younger brother relatively safe and within easy surveillance distance.

It would have to be Option 3. After a happy twirl of his umbrella, Mycroft called in his assistant.

"Yes, sir?" Anthea asked.

"Update my brother's security status." He said. "I want eyes on him and three different agents within a mile at all times."

"Yes, sir." She said, pulling out her Blackberry and beginning to send rapid-fire texts. "Should I include the Doctor in this, Sir?"

"No." Mycroft said darkly. "That thing can take care of himself."

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John Watson checked his inner elbow once more before unlocking the door to 221B. Of course, it had healed. He was a vampire, for Christ's sake, but that didn't make him feel like any less of a complete ass. He walked up the stairs slowly and drifted into the common area like a lost puppy. He heard Sherlock leaping down the stairs and felt himself cringe inwardly at their fight the night before. Sherlock whipped around the divider and stopped abruptly in the doorway when he saw John making tea.

"John." Sherlock said firmly.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I mean this in the best possible way." Sherlock began. "But you're being really, very stupid."

"Sherlock," John said calmly, with a death grip on the handle to the kettle. "I am really, really not in the mood to be talked down to today."

"I have been doing some reading on the subject." Sherlock pressed on. "And I have come to find out that being honest and open with others is the best way to maintain a healthy relationship. So, I thought, in order to maintain our relationship, that I should tell you honestly where you are screwing up in your life."

"Well, then it's a very good thing that you and I aren't in a relationship, isn't it?" John bit back coldly.

"That's just it though, John." Sherlock answered. "I think we should be in one and I am determined for it to be a good one."

"We aren't in a relationship, Sherlock." John answered. "You made it perfectly clear yesterday that I am a convenient fuck for when your hormones demand it."

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I can see how my conversation with Donovan has confused you, but I must reiterate that you are being really, very stupid."

"Okay," John said feeling his temper fray dangerously. "Why exactly am I being 'really, very stupid' this time?"

"Because you aren't a convenient fuck, John." Sherlock said. "I don't want to be with you when my hormones demand it or when I'm bored. I want to be with you constantly because it is highly convenient to have someone I can't live without around all the time."

John stood frozen against the countertop. His heart was aching in his chest at Sherlock's words and he barely registered as Sherlock crept closer. He pressed his forehead against John's and whispered, "I need you, John."

At that point, John couldn't help himself. He was very aware that by the end of the week, he was going to be gone. That Henry would take him away and he would never see Sherlock again. He knew that making this next move wouldn't do anything but cause him more heartache, but he would rather have this bittersweet memory for the rest of eternity than the thought that Sherlock never cared at all.

John leant forward and wrapped his arms around the consulting detective snuggling into his chest. He breathed deep savoring the scent of Sherlock. He felt lanky arms wrap around his chest forming a warm, safe cocoon.

"Sherlock," John said, striving to keep his voice from breaking.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock whispered into his hair.

"No matter what happens," John answered. "I just need you to know. That I really wish this could have worked."

He felt the consulting detective stiffen in his arms before drawing away entirely. John kept his eyes closed so that he wouldn't have to see the look on his flatmate's face. The doctor collapsed against the countertop as he heard Sherlock practically run down the stairs and out of the building.

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Sherlock flew down the stairs. He felt like his head was full of thirty different voices and they were all screaming at the top of their lungs for him to break something, hit someone, inject something, fuck someone. He couldn't get the words of John's rejection out of his head. It just kept replaying louder and louder and louder. He was so lost and confused that he turned a corner and ran right into someone.

"Mr. Holmes?" The voice said happily. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the recognition of the voice. He jumped back away from Henry and glared.

"You." Sherlock growled.

"Me." Henry answered with that stupid smile plastered all over his features.

Sherlock attempted to take a swing at the man that was currently tearing his world apart but missed entirely. Sherlock felt a moment of bewilderment at the fact that his fist hadn't connected with anything. He was a very proficient boxer, he never misses. This thought was quickly pushed aside as his momentum sent him spinning to the concrete. He lay there dazed and heard Henry chuckle from above him.

"You seem a bit irritated, Mr. Holmes." Henry said smugly. "Might I enquire as to the reason?"

"You hurt John." Was all Sherlock was able to say while pulling himself up from the ground. He felt his blood run cold as Henry laughed loudly.

"Is that what this is about?" Henry said still chuckling.

"Why the hell are you laughing?" Sherlock growled.

"Oh, don't give me that face." Henry responded. "You look like a constipated puffer fish. Don't worry. I won't be hurting John much longer."

"You're leaving?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

"Of course." Henry said with a wave of his hand. "John and I just had some business to attend to and then I'll be on my way."

"But the other night…" Sherlock began.

"I know, I know. It's cruel to lead him on like that." Henry said with a fake sigh. "But really. Me? With John Watson? It was slim pickings back then. But I have much better prospects now."

"There is no one better than John." Sherlock growled.

Henry began laughing again and even went so far as to lean heavily against the wall for dramatic effect, "Oh, you're adorable! I can see why he likes you! Listen, Sherlock. Why don't you go for a walk? Cool down a bit. I'm just going to talk to John now. Give me an hour and then you can rush in to pick up the pieces."

"I really hate you." Sherlock growled again.

"The feeling's mutual." Henry said dropping his happy demeanor and giving Sherlock a glance of the monster beneath. "Now get going or I'll spend another night teasing John."

Sherlock felt his hackles rise but turned on his heel anyway. He felt something bloom in his chest at the idea of Henry leaving. He spent an hour walking around London mentally mapping some local construction sites for the next time he was running after a criminal and he felt a small smile tug at his lips at the thought that he would be doing it with John.

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"Come on, John." Henry said leaning against the door jamb. "We're leaving. And hurry up about it."

John felt the compulsion trickle against his spine and responded immediately. He had packed and was out the door within five minutes. He followed Henry obediently down Baker Street and into a long, dark alley. He shifted his rucksack nervously feeling the hairs on the back of his head stand on end.

"Drop your bag and your pants, John." Henry said firmly.

John's psyche surged with anger and fear but the compulsion was there racing through his neurons. He dropped his bag stiffly and began unbuckling his trousers.

"Face the wall." Henry said freeing himself from his own jeans.

John began trembling but couldn't help but obey. Henry crowded against him roughly and pulled John's head back as he lined himself up. "Keep quiet, Johnny Boy. And smile for the cameras."

John felt something dark and mad crash through his brain but couldn't decipher that instinctive fear when Henry thrust himself into John in three snapping pulses. John promptly vomited onto his shoes and fought to push back the pain and humiliation that were seeping into every cell in his body. He bit his own wrist to keep quiet and could barely register Henry's responses due to his pinpoint focus on his own agony.

"You're so fucking tight, love." Henry purred in John's ear. "God, it's like a fucking sauna on my dick."

John couldn't do anything except cling to the wall and let Henry's words wash over him.

"I bet you missed this, didn't you?" Henry continued, pumping into him with force and snapping his hips. "My dick, my cum. You belong to me, love. I can do whatever I want and you love it."

John retched again and felt the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. Not soon enough, John felt Henry's rhythm stagger and change. With two final hard thrusts, Henry came inside him. He pulled out roughly and John quickly covered himself up with his trousers. Henry collapsed against John's back and whispered in his ear, "Don't worry. I'll send that video to Sherlock."

John felt something dark rise through him at those words. He vamped out from pure rage and practically threw Henry off of him. The doctor turned soldier turned vampire whipped around to face his abuser and began stalking toward him.

"The hell you will." John barked. He felt hate and fury bubble up inside him screaming in triumph as he picked Henry up and shoved him against the alleyway. He wrapped his hands firmly around Henry's throat to cut off any chance of the compulsion taking over. "You're not going to do anything. To anyone. Ever. Again."

Henry thrashed violently and clawed at John's face but was unsuccessful against the righteous fury that glowed from the doctor's eyes.

John was just about to rip his fucking head off when two gunshots rang out loudly in the alleyway. John dropped like a stone as two bullets lodged firmly in his kneecaps.

"We're going to have to renegotiate the price, Mr. Turner." A sing-songy Irish voice said calmly from behind John. "I'm certainly not going to pay you 1.25 million to save you from your own property."

John felt pain burn through his legs as someone kicked him over to lie on his back. He looked up into the crazed eyes of Moriarty and felt his heart stop.

"Johnny Boy!" He cried with glee holding a syringe out. "I'm here to take you home!"

He stabbed John with the needle and the doctor cried out as silver nitrate raced through his central nervous system paralyzing him.

"I'll give you 500,000 pounds for my new pet." Moriarty said to Henry. "Take it or leave it."

"And what if I leave it?" Henry said defiantly.

"Then I dose you as well and then sell you off to one of those big game hunting groups." Moriarty said with glee. "I could get a pretty penny for a vampire, I'm sure."

"Fine." Henry barked backing away from the madman. "500,000 pounds."

"Goody." Moriarty answered. "Now leave."

John stared unable to move as Henry raced off into the alleyway. Moriarty swiveled back to stand over the doctor once more.

"Don't worry, Johnny." Moriarty said. "You and I are going to have so much fun together."


	3. Chapter 3

**I just wanted to thank everyone for reading and I hope everyone is enjoying the story. I promise that very soon I will begin to be a lot nicer to our dear John. **

Lestrade glared down at the prone figure of the consulting detective before shoving him roughly with his foot to wake him.

It had been a week since John had left and within twenty-four hours of Sherlock finding his flat empty, he had gone out, gotten shit-faced, lifted some pain killers from someone's pocket, and proceeded to pass out in his own vomit.

"Lovely." Lestrade wrinkled his nose as the combined scents of vomit, urine, and body odor drifted into his face. Lestrade had the brilliant pleasure of being his second emergency contact. So, after six days of this behavior repeating itself, Mrs. Hudson had finally called the paramedics and Lestrade was woken from his bed at 4 in the morning.

Sherlock moaned loudly and curled in on himself as his body tried to throw off the chemical abuse it had been subjected to for the past week.

"Get the fuck up, you lazy sod." Lestrade growled, giving him another shove for good measure.

He watched as Sherlock shifted again, cracked open an eye and gazed up blearily. "Really, Lestrade. Sleeping on the couch for the third night in a row? You must have done something ghastly."

"I'm in a hell of a lot better shape than you, Sherlock." Lestrade continued, simply too tired to rise to Sherlock's bait. "Get up. Right now."

"Case?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Lestrade replied. "You need a shower, two fingers down your throat, and some acetaminophen."

"If there is no case, then I don't need you around." Sherlock answered snidely. "What are you doing here anyhow?"

"I'm your second emergency contact." Lestrade said tiredly. "They couldn't get a hold of John so they called me."

Lestrade watched as pain flickered across his features before twisting into an ugly sneer, "What a complete waste of a medical degree. They would have been more successful giving it to a blind chinchilla."

"Sherlock," Lestrade warned. "I'm in no mood for this today. It is four in the bloody morning and all I want to do right now is go back to bed."

"Then do it." Sherlock said. "No one is stopping you."

"I can't" Lestrade answered back angrily.

"And why is that?" Sherlock said sneering. "Societal norms getting the best of you?"

"Hang societal norms, you complete git." Lestrade snapped. "I promised John that I would keep an eye on you!"

"John asked you to keep an eye on me?" Sherlock asked quietly. "Why would he do that?"

"It doesn't matter." Lestrade answered. "But I promised the stupid sod that I would, so here I am."

"When did he talk to you?" Sherlock asked.

His question was cut short by loud, insistent knocking coming from the ground floor entryway. Lestrade turned swiftly and jogged downstairs. He opened the door and stared up at the giant standing before him.

"I need to speak to John." The man said hurriedly.

"He's not here." Lestrade said. "Who are you?"

"It's four in the bloody morning," The man said pushing past Lestrade and practically running up the stairs. "Where else would he be?"

"Wait!" Lestrade said pulling out his badge. "I think you better explain who you are instead of barging in to people's homes in the middle of the night."

"Bill Murray." The man said. "I fought with John in the war. I need to speak with him. Now."

Lestrade followed quickly and grimaced at the image that Sherlock made curled up in his own sick. The man was fuming as he stared down the consulting detective.

"Where's John?" The man said, his voice tight with anger.

"I don't know." Sherlock said quietly. "You'd have to ask Henry."

"Shit, bugger, bugger, shit, fuck!" The man bellowed before whipping out his cell and placing a call. Lestrade took two steps away from the man and saw Sherlock attempt to slither away as well.

"Sawyer, it's Bill." He said, clutching the handheld with the enough force to split it in two. "Henry's got John…I'm at his flat now…useless actually, he's lying in a puddle of his own sick, high on painkillers…"

He turned to Lestrade suddenly, "When was the last time anyone saw John?"

"Tuesday afternoon." Sherlock croaked.

Bill turned back to his phone conversation and growled, "He's had him for a fucking week already…I'll start here, you keep an eye out for any movement globally…yes…alright…bye."

He wheeled on Sherlock and sent him a withering glare, "Are you going to help me or not?"

"With what, exactly?" Sherlock said, sounding hesitant.

"Finding John, of course." Bill said.

"Why should I do that?" Sherlock said darkly. "He left of his own free will. I'm certainly not going to stick my neck out for a pathetic, little…"

Sherlock was cut off abruptly as Bill grabbed the coffee table and practically threw it across the common area.

"Utterly fucking useless." Bill sneered before turning to Lestrade. "And what about you, Detective Inspector? Are you going to help or regress to the emotional age of a three year old like your friend, here?"

"Is John alright?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.

"No." Bill answered. "He is about as far from alright as anyone could possibly be."

"Of course I'll help." Lestrade answered.

Bill reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a flash drive intending to hand it over to Lestrade but was quickly subverted by Sherlock lurching forward and ripping the tech out of his hand.

"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock said, swaying dangerously on his way to his laptop. "Lestrade couldn't locate Europe on a globe let alone a missing person. You need me."

"Everyone else might let you play these games, Mr. Holmes." Bill said warningly crowding into the consulting detective's personal space. "But this is important and John is important. If you're here for any other reason than because you truly care about John and want to find him, then you can just go back to drinking yourself into a coma."

"I do." Sherlock whispered dejectedly. "Very much."

Bill took a small step back to take stock of the man standing in front of him. Sherlock squirmed under his gaze but held his ground none-the-less. Whatever Bill saw was apparently sufficient because he turned with a small nod before reaching into his jacket to pull out a gun.

"You really think we need firearms for a missing person's case?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"We're not conducting a missing person's case." He said, ejecting the clip and beginning to clean his gun. "We're hunting ourselves a vampire."

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"How are you feeling, Johnny Boy?" Moriarty said happily leaning in the doorway of the cellar.

It had been a week since they had dropped him in this room and left him alone. The only way he knew that the days had been passing was checking his watch and marking the days out on the wall with his fingernail. There was a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling throwing weak shadows over the room. Not that there was that much in the room to illuminate anyway. It was mostly just John. His first two days were spent attempting to heal the wounds to his knees. He needed more blood to heal but in order to do that, his body had completely used up any reserves he had. It should have been a relatively easy if not time-consuming process, but he hadn't been given any blood bags and his body was feverish with the need to replenish. He was sweating profusely and shaking with need. He was secured to the far wall of the room by a steel cuff to his ankle. He could have worked to break out, but the chain attached to the steel was silver making it impossible.

"You don't look so good." Moriarty continued happily. "I know what would make my new pet feel better."

John lurched forward as Moriarty pulled out a bag of O Negative tossing it back and forth as John strained against the chain.

"Aww." Jim teased. "Is my little guy hungry?"

"Royally fuck off." John growled feeling his fangs extend.

"Ya know, Johnny." Moriarty continued, smiling madly as he watched John track the bag from hand to hand. "I have to admit that I underestimated you."

John growled loudly.

"Who'd have thought, huh?" Moriarty said. "Sherlock Holmes was oblivious to having a vampire for a flatmate. Of course, it does seem like you went out of your way to pretend to be human. It's interesting that of the three of us, the one trying to be a human is the one that is actually a monster. Poetic, really."

"What do you want?" John said tightly.

"I have what I want." Moriarty answered. "I have a brand new pet to play with. There is so much to learn from you, Johnny. First, I am going to break you. Then, I am going to put you back together. And finally, I am going to make you obedient. You'll be my very own attack vampire."

"That is never going to happen." John snapped.

"Isn't it though?" Moriarty said with a chuckle. "Look at you, a week without blood and you can't take your eyes off of it. How long do you think before you become really desperate? Two weeks? Three? How long before you give in to temptation?"

"Fuck off." John said harshly.

"Well, in honor of your former flatmate, I think we should do an experiment." Moriarty said with a dark glimmer.

With a signal, a man was shoved into the room cuffed at the wrists and ankles. John watched the man flinch as Moriarty leaned close and kissed the man lightly on the cheek. "This is Thomas. He's been a very bad boy. He laughably attempted to steal from me. Why don't you boys get to know one another."

Dangerously quick, Moriarty pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and cut a thin line across the man's forearm.

"Dinner time, Johnny Boy." He said with a final smirk before sauntering out of the room.

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	4. Chapter 4

**This is a bit of a short chapter but I really felt that this was a good place to end it. Once again, I hope that you are enjoying the story and thanks for reading!**

The video flickered into life on the computer screen revealing a very fuzzy, grimy image of a woman staring into the camera.

"My name is Private Katie Hughes." She began formally. "I am here to give a testimonial as a witness to the events that occurred on the 14th of September, 2009. I am giving this testament under my own volition and being of sound body and mind. I swear that the information I provide here is as faithful recreation to the best of my recollection."

She sighed heavily and rubbed her hand through her extremely curly black hair. There were tears glistening in her dark brown eyes and her chin trembled for a few seconds.

"At 0400 hours, I left the medical tent and went over to the mess hall to get a bite to eat. When I returned at 0445, I found one civilian, Henry Turner, standing over the bed of Private Sebastian Moran. He was…"

At this point, Private Hughes covered her mouth with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut releasing two big tears and allowed them to slide down her cheeks freely. She shook off the emotion quickly and attempted to clear her throat of the lump that had formed.

"He had ripped open Private Moran's wrist and was drinking heavily. Moran was under heavy sedation from a bullet wound to the right calf and was unable to fight against him. I could see Private Moran shaking with pain and blood loss. He was deathly pale and unable to scream because of a cloth shoved into his mouth. He had started convulsing violently when I turned at the sound of someone else entering the medical tent. I turned to see Captain John Watson walk in and freeze at the sight of Mr. Turner."

"Attached to this message is a transcript of the dialogue that occurred between the two vampires. After a brief exchange, Captain Watson practically tore Mr. Turner off of Sebastian and threw him across the room. He licked the wrist of Private Moran before turning to me and telling me to start him on a bag of B+. I followed orders but was able to keep an eye on them as well. Mr. Turner grabbed Captain Watson by his uniform collar and dragged him from the tent. I was able to keep Private Moran alive and he stabilized within a couple of hours."

At this point, Private Hughes took another deep breath and shifted uncomfortably in her chair before continuing, "Captain John Watson was found two hours after leaving the medical tent severely beaten in the civilian quarters of Mr. Turner. He was staked to the ground by a piece of wood at his left shoulder. He required six blood bags before he was stabilized. The wound to his left shoulder continued to smoke for hours after the wood was removed."

She sighed heavily before continuing, "It has been twenty-four hours since the event. Captain Watson is still non-responsive. His body is slowly mending, but his left shoulder is scarring badly. There have been no sightings from Henry Turner since the medical tent but a body was found a few hours ago completely drained of blood. I was informed that they are initiating Project Ag at sunset. The plan should prevent any further mishaps with civilian, Henry Turner."

She adjusted the camera a bit before signing off, "I swear that the testimony conveyed in this video is an accurate rendering of the events."

The video flickered off and Mycroft leaned heavily back into his office chair.

"Do you understand now?" Corporal Sawyer said, catching his attention. "Not only have you allowed a known war criminal free access to a valuable government asset, but you have endangered the lives of your countrymen by not reporting him immediately."

"There was nothing about this incident in Dr. Watson's file." Mycroft protested. "All of the information provided on Henry Turner spoke of his negative treatment of Dr. Watson alone."

"And that makes it okay, does it?" the Corporal responded. "Dr. Watson is a good, honorable man. The higher-ups are not happy with your performance lately, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft swallowed heavily as he stared at this young man threatening his power, "What exactly do they suggest I do?"

"You're coming with me." Corporal Sawyer answered bluntly.

"And where is that?" Mycroft scoffed.

"I have a meeting with a few fanged contacts." Corporal Sawyer said with a smirk. "Quite powerful bunch actually. It will be very helpful to have the power of the British Government by my side, don't you agree?"

Mycroft frowned heavily but saw no possible way to weasel out of this little assignment, "When do we leave?"

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"What?" Bill asked as the two men stared at him.

"John?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"Yes." Bill answered firmly.

"John Watson?"

"Yep."

"Dr. John Watson?"

"Holmes!"

"Seriously? John Watson?"

"Yes!"

"The man who giggles at reality TV shows and has a tendency to nod off in cabs?"

"Sherlock…"

"No," Sherlock cut in. "I just want to make sure that I have all the facts. You're telling me that unassuming, polite, tea-addicted John Watson is a vampire?"

"For god's sakes, yes!"

"That seems highly improbable."

"Well, it wasn't exactly his idea." Bill cut in.

"It's almost absurd." Sherlock continued.

"Are you quite finished?" Bill asked.

"I slept with the man." Sherlock said absentmindedly. "How did I miss this?"

"He sort of went out of his way to not be one." Bill answered.

"Sherlock," Lestrade cut in. "Did you just say that you slept with John?"

"Of course, I did." Sherlock scoffed. "Please keep up, Inspector."

"Can we please get on with this?" Bill said. "We are on a bit of a schedule here."

"Henry is…?" Sherlock asked.

"John's maker." Bill said.

"That means…" Sherlock added.

"Yep."

"What the hell does it mean?" Lestrade asked. "I have almost no idea what you are talking about."

"We can talk about it on the way." Bill said.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll tell you once you sober up, wash off your own sick, and put on some clothes that don't make you look like a gangly, man-child."

"I'll just go shower then." Sherlock said with a huff.

"Thank you." Bill answered before turning to Lestrade. "Let me make a few more calls before we leave."

"Wait," Lestrade called after him.

"What?" Bill asked.

"What are we actually going to do?" He asked. "I don't know the first thing about vampires."

"You leave the vampires to me, Inspector." Bill answered seriously. "You and Sherlock are going to be needed after we locate them."

"Why?" Lestrade asked feeling a chill creep up his spine.

"Because I'll need help putting John back together again."

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**Take that, Mycroft! Sorry, I just really wanted him to HAVE to help John out after how much of a douchebag he's been lately. **


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm just going to preface this chapter with the phrase, "I'm an awful person".**

It felt like something was shredding his stomach apart. His entire body trembled and convulsed with need. He could smell it. Smell him. He smelled so good. John could practically taste it. The wall he'd built in his mind to separate his heightened senses had crumbled hours ago. He could hear the heartbeat of the man pumping rapidly, teasing John with the intensity of it. John remained where he was: curled in a little ball at the furthest corner of the room away from the man, but John couldn't take his eyes off of Thomas. He was tracking him like some fucking animal. With every twitch and jerk from the man, John could feel the excitement course through his veins.

In his two and a half years as a vampire, John had never drunk from a human. Not once. The closest he'd gotten was when he had closed Sebastian's bite in Afghanistan and even then it didn't even register as an actual feeding. He'd been staring hungrily at the man in front of him for close to sixteen hours now and he _wanted_ so badly. Like he had never wanted anything more in his whole life. He took a deep breath savoring the scent of the blood long since coagulated on the man's arm. He felt shivers of pleasure along his spine and threw his head back against the wall in surprise as his cock twitched in appreciation.

"No." He murmured to himself dejectedly. "No no no no no."

He was disgusting. He was a monster. He was getting hard at the thought of draining this man dry. Fuck. He felt wave after wave of shame numb his mind. The poor man was crying, shaking with fear, and John was getting off on it. He felt bile crawl up the back of his throat and he retched violently against the wall. He dragged in heaps of oxygen but still felt choked and strangled with self-hatred.

But his body refused to give in to these moral quandaries; it yearned for the blood that was sliding so deliciously through those delicate veins. John's body wanted the heat of the hemoglobin. He wanted smell it, taste it, bath in it, use it as lubricant…

He grasped the silver chains forcefully letting the pain shove away every nasty, hateful, evil thought. He relished the feeling as the silver burned into the palms of his hands. He felt clarity for the first time in days as his mind focused sharply on the burns scarring his flesh. He let unconsciousness take him away happily as the pain overwhelmed his mind.

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Sherlock stood under the showerhead letting the painfully hot water pour over him. He could still feel the alcohol and pills muddling up his mind but the shock of John's identity was definitely assisting in the sobering up process. He let the information settle firmly in his brain attempting to combine his previous ideas of John Watson with this new information.

The idea of vampires wasn't new to Sherlock. John won't even be the first vampire that Sherlock had ever encountered. You met all kinds when getting ridiculously high in the dankest back alleys of London. But none of his well researched knowledge and personal experience had given Sherlock any clue as to John's condition. Sherlock rested his head heavily against the bathroom tiles as more thoughts coalesced.

John's condition and his relationship with Henry. It all made perfect sense now. John wasn't in love with Henry, not really. He was bound to him. All new vampires were under the compulsion of their makers for the first decade or so. The length of time was dependent upon the comparative strengths of the two vampires involved. Sherlock felt guilt claw at his stomach as he remembered all of the verbal barbs he'd thrown at John the night Henry had been in their flat.

He felt something deflate in his chest as he sobered enough to remember their parting. John wasn't choosing Henry over him. He was being forced to leave. Sherlock could still remember the feel of John pulled so close to his chest. He recalled the smell and feel of John as he ran his cheek softly along Sherlock's chest. His penis throbbed with excitement at the thought of John curdled against him in bed, John moaning his name, the way he rolled his hips against his flatmate's, the sound of his gasping breathes as he recovered from his orgasms. Sherlock gripped his erection lightly and stroked as the memories rushed through him. He began bucking lightly as the thought of John's smile, his giggle, his lips stretched wetly against Sherlock's penis. He felt groans escape his lips as the feel of John naked and rutting against him crashed into Sherlock like a freight train. He became moving in earnest, bracing himself against the wall as a warm weight slithered down his stomach into his groin. He came powerfully with a muffled shout as he remembered the feel of John's erection in his mouth.

He collapsed back against the tiles and felt like himself again for the first time in a week. And if all it took was a wank in the shower using the memory of his flatmate, well…he wasn't going to worry about it overmuch. Besides, who wouldn't feel better coming with John Watson in their mind?

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"I really must protest." Mycroft said evenly. "There is no reason that I personally should see to this task."

"There is also no reason you should not." The voice answered over the phone. "After your questionable behavior regarding the government's asset, there really is no other way to regain our favor. If you want to keep your adorable little government, then you will do this."

"But Mummy…" Mycroft replied.

"No whining, dear." Mummy cut him off. "That was really just an awful thing that you did. You really should be more open-minded, sweetheart."

"I really have to do this?" Mycroft asked again.

"Don't sound so morose, sweetie." She answered. "It is a couple of days at a posh resort in Spain. Enjoy yourself!"

"Fine." Mycroft grumbled into the receiver.

"That's my lovely young man," She answered. "Are you going to make it for dinner next Thursday?"

"Of course, Mummy."

"Wonderful, dear." She answered. "See you soon."

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"Please stop." John begged. "Please. Please. Just stop."

He felt a sob strangle his throat and he fought against it.

"Now what kind of owner would I be if I didn't feed my little pet regularly?" Moriarty chided with an evil gleam.

"I don't…I can't…please." John said brokenly unable even to hide his head in his hands. They were blistered badly and were a vicious red color. He had woken just an hour after his self-inflicted torture to find his hands burning and his hunger felt like it had tripled. While he had been out cold, they had moved Thomas to a set of chains just a few feet from him. He had jerked away as far as possible when he had realized this but he was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. When Moriarty had entered just a few minutes later, John was a wreck of instinctual need and self-disgust.

"Eat up, Johnny." Moriarty practically purred. With that said, he pulled out a gun and shot Thomas directly in the chest. John felt the warm blood splatter him in the face and lunged for the dying man without another thought. He latched roughly onto his carotid artery and moaned loudly as the hot blood flowed freely into his mouth filling him with pleasure in the process. He drank and drank and drank, sucking every ounce of blood from the man. He turned to the wound on the dead man's chest and lapped up the splatters there as well. He was thoroughly cleaning the blood from his fingers when his rational mind came back online suddenly.

He scrambled back away from the body as far as he would go and felt something crack painfully in his chest. He collapsed in on himself curling as far into the wall as possible as gut-wrenching sobs tore loudly from his throat. He was so consumed with hate and disgust with himself that he barely registered Moriarty's high-pitched laugh sounding loudly throughout the cold cellar.

"Good boy, Johnny." He said turning to leave. "That's my good boy."

**Who doesn't love the idea of Mummy Holmes running all of Europe and giving Mycroft the British Government as a birthday present?**


	6. Chapter 6

"There is no way that I am going to ever consent to doing that." Mycroft said firmly sitting in the back of a car with Corporal Sawyer.

"It's good manners, Mycroft." The younger man said with a grin. "It's like bringing over a bottle of wine to a dinner party."

"It's barbaric." He answered, sniffing loudly.

"It's amazing." Sawyer said with a wistful look. "It feels amazing. You should really be more open-minded."

Mycroft leaned back into the seat and looked at his traveling companion. They'd been on this stupid little diplomatic mission for three days now. He'd gotten to know the Corporal pretty well at this point and was finding himself a bit fascinated by the young man. He was close to thirty but seemed to be constantly full of energy and admiration for the world around him. And if Mycroft was any judge of character (and he was, constantly), he must objectively admit that the world admired Sawyer back. He was an attractive man by society's standards. He was tall with lean, but well-defined muscles corded tightly under his skin. He had rich brown hair that was cut in a military fashion close to his skull. His skin was naturally tan and it matched his warm brown eyes perfectly. He had a dimple in the left corner of his mouth when he smiled and his forehead crinkled cutely when he laughed…

He was pulled from his completely objective analysis of his travel partner by the sound of a door being opened and Sawyer calling to him, "Come on, Mycroft."

"I would like to once again formally protest this type of association." He said climbing from the car and swinging his umbrella irritably.

"Irritation formally acknowledged." Sawyer said with another smirk. "Now, stop being such a stick in the mud. This is a party. We're here to have a good time."

Mycroft sighed heavily and followed the Corporal into the entryway of a sprawling white villa in the countryside of Spain.

They were greeted by a smiling woman in a light summer dress who pulled Sawyer into a warm hug before lightly kissing the pulse point of his carotid artery. Her bright green eyes glittered with happiness that were such a marked contrast to her caramel skin tone and cascades of black hair falling gently down her back.

"Sawyer, my dear boy!" She called happily, pulling away. "It is so wonderful to see you again."

"It is great to see you too, Helen." He said with a grin. "May I introduce Mycroft Holmes? He's the man I spoke to you about on the phone."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes." She said amiably. "You are very welcome here tonight. Sawyer has informed me of your little information gathering trip and I must say I am very pleased to be of assistance. That Mr. Turner is a vile creature and I, for the life of me, can't understand why anyone would trust him with the well-being of a young one."

"Yes…" Mycroft began awkwardly. "Well…thank you for your hospitality. Hopefully, we won't impose upon you too long."

"Nonsense," She said with a wave. "Stay as long as you like."

"Thank you, Helen." Sawyer said. "This means a lot."

"No problem, love." She said placing her hand gently on his cheek. "George is in his study if you would like to say hello."

"Wonderful, thank you." Sawyer answered.

Sawyer led Mycroft through the villa up a flight of stairs and down a sunny hallway before stopping in front of a door on the east side of the house.

"Okay," Sawyer said. "Now, I'll go first."

Mycroft gulped nervously, but didn't reply.

"Don't look so anxious!" Sawyer said, touching him lightly on the shoulder. "Just be polite and enjoy yourself."

Mycroft nodded, unable to speak due to the large lump that had settled firmly in his throat.

Sawyer gave his shoulder one more squeeze before turning toward the door and knocking lightly. He entered at the sound of a greeting on the other side of the door. They entered a room filled wall to wall with books. Mycroft felt his mouth begin to water as the volumes upon volumes of First Editions and Original Manuscripts greeted him like an old friend. He was so spellbound by the treasures surrounding him that he didn't notice the other occupant of the room at first.

"I see we have a scholar in our midst." A man chuckled happily pulling Mycroft away from his reverie.

"Sorry," Mycroft said. "This is quite the collection."

"Well, a couple hundred years of existence helps." The man said with a grin.

Mycroft turned to finally look at the room's occupant deftly ignoring the knowing smirk that was playing happily over Sawyer's features. He was average height with skin and hair matching that of their hostess. His eyes were a little less striking being a dark brown instead but the resemblance was unmistakable.

"Siblings?" Mycroft asked, deciding to go for polite instead of blunt.

The man nodded amiably before turning to Sawyer, "Richard, my boy! It's good to see you."

"Likewise." Sawyer said with a happy grin nonchalantly rolling up the sleeve of his left arm. "I would like to formally acknowledge my gratitude at your invitation and offer up a little token of myself in return."

George nodded formally before holding Sawyer's left wrist lightly in his hand. "I graciously accept your gift and wish you well in this house tonight."

Mycroft watched in uneasy anticipation as George's fangs dropped slowly from his mouth to rest delicately against Sawyer's wrist. With a flick of his head, George pierced the skin allowing a few drops of blood to form before dipping his head and sucking gently. Mycroft felt a different kind of awkwardness course through his body at the delightful groan that came from Sawyer's lips before George pulled back, licked his wrist, and released the Corporal. He was fascinated.

Sawyer readjusted his shirt once more before turning to Mycroft with a lazy, almost sinful grin, "George, this is Mr. Holmes. It is first time interacting with vampires and he is a bit uneasy."

"I understand," George said with a grin. "We can forgo the formal greeting if it makes you uncomfortable, Mr. Holmes. I would not wish to cause you any distress."

"No." Mycroft heard himself protest. "I have no problem with the formal greeting. I would very much like to make my appreciation for your hospitality known."

He tried once again to avoid Sawyer's knowing smirk by turning his attention to George and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt in the process. George cocked an eyebrow at him, but walked forward and lightly held his wrist, "I graciously accept your gift and wish you well in this house tonight."

Mycroft felt a little pinch as George's fang pierced his skin but it was quickly washed away by the waves of warm heat flooding his body as George began to suck. To his complete embarrassment, he felt a small moan escape his lips and shuddered deliciously as George pulled away and licked the cut clean. He glanced at Sawyer once again and felt his analytical heart skip a beat as he read Sawyer's arousal in his body language. Oh, dear. This is going to be much more complicated than I thought.

"Well," George said cutting through the gaze of the other two men in the room. "The guests should be arriving for the picnic in the next few minutes. Helen's chef makes a delicious braised beef tenderloin with those tiny little onions and a reduced red wine sauce. Make yourselves at home and absorb the information. Vampires are known for their love of gossip. You should be able to hear something of that Henry fellow."

"Thank you, George." Sawyer said. "I really appreciate this. My mate, John, he's in a bit of a tight spot and this is really going to help."

"No problem," George answered. "I am very sorry to hear about all this. It is unfortunate that with so few young as vampires can have, that one would be so brutally mistreated."

They exited the study soon after that and were walking back down to the patio outside when Sawyer grabbed Mycroft by the waist and shoved him lightly against the wall before catching the older man's lips in a heated kiss. Mycroft's umbrella clattered to the floor as he ran his hands up Sawyer's arm's to grip him lightly by the neck and return the sentiment. Their bodies were flush against each other's and both were breathing heavily by the time they broke away for air.

"That sound you made…" Sawyer said panting. "Will you make that sound for me tonight?"

"Whatever you want." Mycroft answered feeling his usually iron-tight control slip away.

Sawyer kissed him lightly once more before stepping back and adjusting Mycroft's tie with a grin. Mycroft responded by running his fingers through Sawyer's hair to hide the evidence of their little extracurricular activity. They pulled away slowly and Sawyer leant down to pick up the umbrella as a ping from Mycroft's phone sounded down the hall. Mycroft felt heat flood his face as he read the text:

_Incoming Text from __**Mummy:**_

**Didn't I tell you that you would have a good time? **

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"Did you know that Thomas had two younger sisters still in high school, Johnny boy?" Moriarty continued. "Their parents died in a tragic car accident years ago. He was trying to save enough money for their college."

John shook his head against the words and tried to melt into the wall. He was still covered in the blood of that man and felt his mind scream in torment while his body happily took the blood and rejuvenated his aches and pains. The palms of his hands were heavily marked with scar tissue in the shape of interlocking chains. He stared at them as Moriarty's litany continued.

"It's a shame really." Moriarty said. "What do you think will happen to those little girls now? I guess I could bring them here? Make a reunion out of it! How does that sound, Pet?"

John fought against the words and fought against the instinct to look at the body that was decomposing on the floor near him. It had been three days since John had gone postal and Moriarty had decided to leave the corpse there next to him to "keep him company" as the psychopath had proudly announced. Unable to lock down his extrasensory abilities due to stress, his nose was constantly bombarded by the scent of rotting tissue and released bowels.

"What do you want?" John pleaded quietly.

"I want to show you off, Johnny." Moriarty purred. "I want everyone I meet to know that I have a bought and paid for vampire."

"I don't belong to anybody." John growled darkly feeling a deep rage thrumming through his entire being. "I am not a tool, I am not a toy, and I am not a pet. I am not a fucking piece of property!"

John lurched against the chain fully intending to reach out and claw that crazed smile from the psychopath's face. He missed Moriarty's pressed suit by inches and felt a swift kick from one of the guards send him careening back into the wall. He leapt again with the same result and ended up cradling his ribs in one hand as he glared daggers at the humans standing across from him.

"That's not very good manners, Johnny Boy." Moriarty said, his smile gone replaced by an evil little grimace. "I think I'll have to put you in time out."

"Never, Moriarty." John said vehemently. "Never. Do you understand that? You can beat me, starve me, torture me. But you will never own me. Henry, I obeyed because I had to. Sherlock, I followed because I wanted to. But, you? You're nothing. You can kill me now or keep me alive until you die yourself, but you will never break me. You're only human, after all. You want a monster? Fine. I can be a monster, but you don't control monsters, Jim. You don't put them on a leash and take them out for walks. You fucking run in terror, you tiny, insignificant little waste of oxygen."

"You really shouldn't have said that, Johnny." Moriarty said, the sneer replaced by a blank stare.

"And you really shouldn't have put a vampire in a cage." John fired back feeling control slam into his chest for the first time in weeks. He had trying being human. He'd tried being normal. But all that ever brought him was pain and loss. He'd lost everything pretending to be something he wasn't. Well, he was done with that now. He was a monster; it was about time he started acting like it.

**So...Moriarty broke John...but I'm not sure that this is what Moriarty had in mind. **

**Soon: Team Watson to the rescue!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, so I need to admit that I struggled just a wee bit with this Chapter. I hope you enjoy it!**

"Lestrade!" Sherlock bellowed as they raced through the backstreets of London. "If you don't get the lead out, I will post those embarrassing photos of you from Christmas on my website!"

Lestrade took off with a burst of speed and was soon outstripping Sherlock himself, "Like hell you will!"

"Behave!" Bill called from the front. "You two are like snarky children!"

"Bill!" Sherlock called. "There's construction up ahead! The cab is going to have to head toward the bridge! Take a left here!"

They raced through the night after the only the lead that the hours upon hours of CCTV footage had dredged up. They had wasted two days looking through those tapes and just when they were starting to despair, Sherlock had caught a reflection off of a travel agency window. That had led them to the travel agency then to the woman manning the phones that day then to a particular coffee shop then to another coffee shop and finally to a rundown bar in the seedier parts of London. They had watched in despair as the woman they were currently attempting to track down jumped into a taxi and sped away. Hence, the frantic marathon through the alleys of London.

"There!" Bill shouted, feet pounding the pavement. "At the stop light!"

Bill practically collapsed on top of the cab right as the light turned green. Sherlock threw the door open and flashed Lestrade's badge at the terrified woman.

"Scotland Yard!" Sherlock panted. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called angrily. "Excuse me, ma'am. We have some questions regarding someone that came into the bar this evening. Would you mind taking some time to answer our questions?"

"I guess not." She said, still eying all of them uneasily. "Did you run here?"

"Hardly important." Sherlock answered. "There was a man in the bar earlier today. Henry Turner. Do you remember him?"

"Is he alright?" She asked curiously.

"Why?" Sherlock fired back.

"Well," She said. "He's been in the bar the past three afternoons. He seemed a bit down. I would feel bad for the guy if he wasn't such a complete creep."

"Was anyone with him?"

"No." She answered.

"Did he say anything?" Sherlock continued. "About where he was staying? Maybe had a cab pick him up?"

"Nothing like that." She said, "Sorry."

Sherlock spun away and let out an angry snarl. "This was a complete waste of time."

"Sorry." Lestrade said to the woman. "What did he say? Anything at all would be beneficial."

"Well," She said thinking hard. "No exact location. But he did leave me his cell number. The creep tried to pick me up."

Sherlock practically jumped at the poor woman at this announcement. "Do you still have it?"

She dug around in her purse for what seemed like ages to the consulting detective before pulling out a crumpled napkin. "I shoved it in here when I went on break."

Sherlock snatched it away and pulled out his own cell and began dialing frantically. He waited with baited breath as it rang once...twice…

"Hello."

"Where the hell is he?" Sherlock fumed on the other line.

"Who is this?" Henry asked curiously.

"You know very well who this is, Henry Turner." Sherlock said.

"Mr. Holmes?" Henry said with a light laugh. "How exactly did you get this number?"

"I will find you." Sherlock said coldly. "Do you hear me? You have one chance to let John go or I swear that I will hunt you down and chop you up myself."

"So sorry to disappoint." Henry said, his voice amused by the exchange. "I wasn't lying, Mr. Holmes, when I told you that John and I were parting ways."

"Then where the hell is he?" Sherlock asked.

"I, honestly, couldn't say." Henry answered smugly.

Sherlock growled in frustration and then almost yelped in shock as Bill plucked the phone from his ear.

"You listen to me, Henry Turner." Bill said quietly, evenly. "We're not going to bargain with you or offer immunity in exchange for information. We are going to track you down and cut your fucking head off. And in between those two events we are going to get the information we need. So, the only thing you really need to decide is exactly how much pain you want to experience before we send your tainted soul to the pits of hell. I haven't forgotten about Afghanistan and finding John that morning. I owe you some payback, you wretched pile of shit, and I intend to get paid."

Bill was silent for about thirty seconds before hanging up and turning back to Sherlock, "Please tell me that you got something from all of that."

"I can tell you where he isn't but that's as good as I can get right now." Sherlock answered.

"I'm all ears." Bill answered.

"It's quarter past the hour but we didn't hear any sort of chime." Sherlock began. "That rules out about a two hundred meter radius of any major churches. He was outdoors but not on the street. You could hear car's honking but not the sound of cars passing nearby. This points to a major thoroughfare that has him on a balcony somewhere. It wouldn't be a residential area. Based on the sound distribution I would say that he had to be at least four floors up. He wasn't near the Thames or the financial district. That's all the information I have."

"Right." Bill said rubbing a hand over his face.

"What did he say to you?" Sherlock asked. "He told me that John isn't with him."

"He told me the same thing." Bill answered with a dark look. "He also told me that he sold him off like a piece of property."

"Why would he do that?" Sherlock asked feeling something cold clench in his chest.

"No idea." Bill said. "We better head back."

Lestrade finally returned from getting the woman's information and they took a cab back to Baker Street. Lestrade made tea and Bill and Sherlock began marking a map on possible locations for Henry to be. They were just overlapping the sections in different colored highlighters when Bill's mobile rang.

"Murray." Bill answered. "Really?...No, that actually helps…apparently, the sick fuck sold John…Right…good work, Sawyer…stay in touch."

"What?" Lestrade asked setting the mugs down.

"Apparently," Bill said. "Henry was having some major financial troubles. He had spent all of his money in some hare-brained scheme involving stolen military secrets. He had liquefied all of his assets and was struggling to pay off his debts."

"So, he's using John as collateral?" Lestrade asked.

"Seems likely." Bill said.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Bill said. "Sawyer and Mycroft are still working on getting information in Spain. Hopefully, something else will turn up."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock huffed angrily. "How is he involved in this?"

"Sorry," Bill answered. "That's above my pay grade."

"Well, luckily, I know someone with a bit more power than you."

He whipped out his phone and pressed one on his speed dial.

"Sherlock, darling." Mummy picked up after the second ring. "How are you?"

"Fine, Mummy." Sherlock said, turning away from the inhabitants of the room staring at him. "I trust that you are well."

"I am now." She answered in a happy tone. "I trust your call isn't just social."

"I'm a multi-tasker as always." Sherlock said.

"That's my boy." She answered. "What do you need?"

"I need any information you have on a Henry Turner and, subsequently, any insight on why Mycroft is currently in Spain."

"Yes, I was expecting your call." Mummy answered, sounding a bit put out. "All the information I have on Henry Turner is with you. Bill Murray is a charming man and a great asset to your search."

"Bill works for you?" Sherlock asked curiously. "I thought that this was a British matter?"

"Now, Sherlock," She began. "Don't be too upset with me, but I must admit to being a bit more involved in this Dr. Watson business than it seems."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," She said. "I was a consultant during the deliberations. I can't say that I was particularly keen on the idea. The probability of the process even succeeding was extremely low, but the logic seemed sound. Unfortunately, Henry Turner had motives beyond doing a service to his country. As soon as the entire operation went belly up, I commandeered several of the soldier's from John's Unit as a task force. We have been trying to track Mr. Turner for months now. He took more than just the life of a soldier when he left Afghanistan. The information he had could have seriously compromised the safety of our men in the war."

"And John?" Sherlock asked.

"He had to be kept far away from the entire operation." She answered competently. "Dr. Watson's connection to Mr. Turner was a liability. We needed to keep him out of the way as well as keep an eye on him at the same time. It only made sense to kill two birds with one stone. I am well aware of the security detail that Mycroft has on you and your flat. It was only natural that he would extend this watch to your flatmate as well. Though keeping Dr. Watsons' service record redacted for as long as I did was quite a bit of work. He really is tenacious, your brother."

"You arranged our meeting." Sherlock said. It wasn't a question. The minute it popped into his mind, he knew it was a fact.

"Mike Stamford really is a charming man." She said in confirmation.

"And Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"He took the news of Dr. Watson's condition less than well." She said, finally sounding a bit miffed. "I can't say that I agree with his steps, but his motives were good."

"What did he do, Mummy?" Sherlock asked, feeling his temper flaring up.

"It's more of what he didn't do, darling." She said. "Despite his knowledge of both Dr. Watson's condition and a basic knowledge of Mr. Turner's proclivities, he failed to act either to protect the good Doctor or inform the appropriate individuals of the situation."

Sherlock growled into the receiver but was unable to start shouting profanities as his mother continued, "Don't get yourself worked up over it, Sherlock. Trust me when I say that I am handling it and he is very aware of my opinion on the matter. He is in Spain to personally assist Corporal Sawyer with acquiring information to aid in finding the location of both Mr. Turner and, subsequently, Dr. Watson."

"I hope that he is having a rotten time." Sherlock answered grumpily.

"Let's just say that the events are keeping him on the edge of his seat." His Mother said with a hint of amusement in her voice. "I don't think he's been this much out of his depth since we insisted he learned how to play the piano."

Sherlock smirked at the memory. His superior in deduction, Mycroft may be, but he was definitely not a musical prodigy. "Is there anything else I need to know, Mummy?"

"Just be careful, darling." She answered. "Vampires, for the most part, aren't vicious or evil but there are outliers in all species. I worry about Dr. Watson, not only physically but mentally as well. He's had a bit of a rough time of it. I hope you find him soon. You two seem to be quite the pair."

"Thank you, Mummy." Sherlock answered quietly. "For all your help."

"You're so welcome, darling." She said. "Keep in touch."

"Will do." Sherlock answered before hanging up. He turned back toward his two companions and smirked at the matching expressions of disbelief on their faces.

"What?" He asked.

"Margaret Wolkan is your mother?" Bill asked incredulously.

"Yes," Sherlock answered simply. "She kept her last name when she married."

"Right." Bill answered before turning back to the map.

"I'll get some officers to patrol the highlighted areas more thoroughly." Lestrade cut in. "We can't go over every inch of the city ourselves and we don't know how long he'll stay where he is."

"I'll get the homeless network working on it as well." Sherlock answered. "We should have him within twenty-four hours."

"Why don't you sound more excited?" Lestrade asked. "We'll find him and then find John."

"Twenty-four hours is long time, Lestrade." Sherlock answered seriously. "A lot can happen."

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"Sir," the guard said hurriedly. "We can't get a visual. He's destroyed the lightbulb and the security cameras as well."

"Drug him then." Moriarty growled.

"The sedatives aren't working, Sir." He answered. "He's burning through them too quickly. When we tried, he broke Coleson's arm and crushed Henderson's hand."

Moriarty slammed his hands on his desk and stalked down to the cellar where they were keeping his latest purchase. He grabbed a torch from one of the guards and threw open the door. He scanned the dark room with the light and finally caught the thing in the glow. The figure in front of him looked wretched. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been in for almost two weeks now. He was covered in blood and dirt. If Moriarty was less of a psychopath, he might have been affected by the dark gaze of blood red eyes turned his way and sharp teeth sneering at him. "Watson, do you really think you can keep this up for much longer? You'll get hungry, eventually."

A dark giggle drifted to the psychopath and sent an uncharacteristic, instinctual shiver up his spine.

"I will break you." Moriarty continued. "This little temper tantrum will fade and you'll be a blubbering mass of play-doh for me too mold soon enough."

"You keep thinking that, if it gives you comfort." A monotone voice called out.

"You're no match for me, Watson!" Moriarty shouted. "You're not smarter, you don't have the resources, and you're not even human!"

Another giggle slithered toward Moriarty. "Exactly. I'm not human. Not anymore. And I don't have to be smarter, I just have to be more patient. You're already starting to crack, aren't you? What happened to 'Johnny Boy'? Are you getting angry, Jim? A little overwhelmed? Getting violent? The only way to control me, Jim, is to kill me. And if you kill me, you lose. No pet vampire, no little toy to play with. Face it, Jim. You're out of your depth."

With that said, Dr. Watson slid down the wall to sit comfortably staring idly at his fingernails.

"This isn't over." Moriarty growled. "I will win this and I will wipe that little smirk right off your face. Perhaps I should bring in another friend for you to play with. Would you like that, Johnny Boy?"

"Do what you want." Dr. Watson answered. "It makes me no difference."

Moriarty growled and slammed the door again. Turning to his guards, he felt a lovely little idea poke its head up and call out. "Our little vampire has very sensitive hearing, boys. Why don't we give his delicate ears something to listen to? Sensory overload ought to help soften him up."


	8. Chapter 8

**Who's ready for Mycroft Sexy-Times?**

"Oh…oh god...oh yes…"

"Tell me. Say it, Mycroft. Say it for me."

"I need you." He pleaded. "I need you inside me."

Sawyer gave one more wet lick from base to tip of Mycroft's cock before sliding back up to mark Mycroft's neck.

Mycroft gasped as he felt one lube-slick finger slid into his arse as his cock twitched in appreciation.

"Breathe, Holmes." Sawyer murmured into his skin. "Just breathe. I've got you."

Mycroft shuddered as Sawyer pushed his finger in and out, licking up and down his neck. Mycroft let the shivery heat crawling up his skin short-circuit his mind allowing him to succumb to senses for the first time in years. His erection was a tight bundle of hot pressure but Mycroft with his hands tied loosely to the headboard was unable to relieve that tension.

"More." He cried out. "I need more."

"You have to say it, Holmes." Sawyer said, never stopping that steady rhythm of his finger. "You want my cock inside you, you have to say it."

Mycroft clenched his teeth and shook his head trying to stop the words from falling from his kiss-bruised lips. Sawyer nibbled lightly at Mycroft's ear causing him to pant loudly. He pulled his finger all the way out and Mycroft bucked his hips as two took its place. Sawyer sped up rapidly causing goose-flesh to ripple across his skin. With one deep thrust and a perfect bull's eye to his prostrate, Mycroft shouted loudly, "Fuck, alright! I'll say it! Fuck!"

Sawyer began that steady rhythm as he came nose to nose with Mycroft.

"Say it." He demanded quietly with an evil little grin. "Say it and then I will fuck you senseless."

Mycroft shivered with want and whispered softly, "I was wrong. I was wrong about John Watson."

Sawyer smiled a wide, guileless grin and then kissed Mycroft soundly on the mouth. "I'm going to take you, Holmes. Do you want that?"

"Yes." Mycroft said panting. "Take me. Fuck me. Just please, do it now."

With one final bruising kiss to his lips, Sawyer slithered back down his body to kneel between Mycroft's splayed thighs. "I want to hear you. I want to hear everything."

"Yes."

Mycroft watched Sawyer's eyes haze over with lust as he finally shed his pants and kissed Mycroft's knees lightly. Mycroft stared as he opened the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it onto his achingly hard cock. He licked his lips unconsciously as Sawyer poured lubricant on his erection and stroked his own cock. Placing a pillow under Mycroft's hips, Sawyer lined up carefully and locked eyes with Mycroft as he began to push gently in.

"Richard..." Mycroft groaned deeply. "Oh god…"

"Tell me, Holmes." Sawyer said pushing further in.

Mycroft moaned loudly as Sawyer pushed the last few centimeters in until he was balls deep in him.

"You're so tight." Sawyer moaned as he began rocking lightly. "And hot. Oh god, you feel so good."

"Harder." Mycroft groaned bucking his hips for more friction. "Please Richard, harder."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sawyer kicked his hips forcefully and grinned at Mycroft's answering moan. They began moving against each other in earnest and soon the rhythm became erratic and irregular. Sawyer moaned loudly slamming three final hard thrusts into him and arched his back as his orgasm slammed into him. As soon as the tremors subsided he wrapped his hand around Mycroft's erection and pulled a loud groan from Mycroft as his own orgasm had him arching against the sheets.

Sawyer quickly released Mycroft's wrists and massaged them carefully as Mycroft fought to catch his breath. He kissed Mycroft lightly on his temple before curling around him on the bed.

"You make the most delicious sounds, Mycroft Holmes." Sawyer said.

"You seem to bring out the best in me, Corporal Sawyer."

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"Henry." Sherlock said with a tight grin. "So nice to see you again."

Sherlock walked a slow circle around the figure sitting tied to the chair in the middle of the abandoned warehouse. The trio had been running ragged and Lestrade was nodding off in a chair catching sleep where he could. Bill had taken a power nap as Henry after Henry was secured, but Sherlock had been unable to sleep. He was too focused to sleep. All he could think about was the case. And now that their objective was within their grasp, he couldn't shut down to rest. The only thing he could think about was the vampire sitting in front of him. They had found his hotel about ten hours after Sherlock had alerted the homeless network. It had taken Bill another four to get all the necessary supplies and then another two to drug him and transport him to the warehouse. It had then taken Henry another forty-five minutes to shake off the drugs.

Seventeen hours. Seventeen more hours that Sherlock had to spend not knowing where John was, what was happening to him, and if he was alright. Seventeen hours to hone Sherlock's already impressive temper. Sherlock finally was going to get a chance to exact a little revenge. He intended to take full advantage of the situation.

Bill had competently chained Henry to the seat using thick silver chains that caused his skin to crackle and smoke. Needless to say, Sherlock was completely comfortable with the set-up.

Henry's eyes slowly became focused on Sherlock as he shook off the last of the sedative.

"A few friends of mine were hoping to have a little chat with you before feeding you to a myriad of insects that would efficiently divest you of your flesh."

"I'll tell you if you let me go." Henry bargained.

"You always were a coward, Henry." Bill said, finally joining the conversation. He'd been hanging back as Henry came to but Sherlock could feel the rage pouring off of him. "Attacking the men in the infirmary, attacking John because he couldn't fight back. Now tell us what we need to know and we'll make the pain go away."

Sherlock leapt backward as Henry's eyes went blood red from lid to lid and his fangs protruded with a sharp growl.

"It's a stress response." Bill said, placing a hand lightly on Sherlock's shoulder. "It's like a defense mechanism. Whenever they get really hurt or they get scared or angry, they vamp out."

"All of them?" Sherlock asked curiously

"Yeah." Bill answered quietly.

"Did you know that he calls your name in his sleep?" Henry said viciously. "After I fucked his face and he had tears running down his cheeks. After I fed greedily and left him covered in my sweat and come."

Sherlock rounded on him and slammed his fist into Henry's nose.

"Fuck!" He screamed cradling his hand to his chest. "I think I broke my hand."

As he turned away, he saw a flash of silver as Bill slammed a knife hilt-deep into Henry's left shoulder. Henry cried out loudly and struggled against the chains.

"Where is he?" Bill shouted. "Where the hell is he?"

"Fuck off." Henry cried brokenly.

Bill slammed another knife into Henry's left thigh and all the air left Sherlock's lungs as Henry shouted, "Moriarty!"

Blood drained from Sherlock's face and his heart seemed to stutter painfully before slamming into his chest like a freight train. Fear and rage flooded his system causing him to lose feeling in his extremities.

"Sherlock," Lestrade called. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

Sherlock sighed in relief as the adrenaline finally flooded his sympathetic nervous system. This should allow him another couple of hours of productivity before his body shut down. He wrenched away from Lestrade and pulled out his phone pressing number 3 on his speed dial.

"It's Moriarty." Sherlock almost yelled into the phone. "Moriarty has John. We have to find him, Mycroft. I need to see all of the progress you've made since the pool. Email it to me immediately. I'm heading back to the flat now."

"_Of course. I'll send a clean-up crew to your location now." _Mycroft answered_. "And Sherlock?...I am…sorry."_

He hung up and turned to his compatriots, "We're ending this. Tonight."

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**Hey! Little bit of an endnote for everyone:**

**I just wanted to send a great big virtual hug to everyone that has read and/or reviewed the story! I'm really overwhelmed by the response. You guys have given me goosebumps of happiness!**


	9. Chapter 9

"7% solution of cocaine, Johnny Boy." Moriarty said, standing in the doorway. "Three times the lethal dose, of course, to combat that lovely metabolism of yours. We threw a bit of a hallucinogen in for funsies."

"What are you going to do?" Dr. Watson said, smirking. "Drug me to death?"

"I wouldn't want to give away the surprise." Moriarty said with a smug grimace. "Enjoy."

John didn't have time to avoid the modified tranquilizer and the drug poured into his system setting his nerve endings on fire. He felt his senses burn with intensity and dawning settled on his drug-addled mind just as a blaring cacophony of sound assaulted his over sensitized hearing. His mind seemed to tear apart as the discordant noise assaulted his cochlea. It seemed to go on forever. He couldn't focus, couldn't push the pain away. He thrashed around and pulled against the chain on his ankle desperate to escape the onslaught. He threw himself against the wall, slammed his head repeatedly on the cement floor, anything…anything…to get the noise to stop. His ears felt like they were bleeding, like they had caught on fire. He collapsed on the floor and started convulsing, exhausted.

He felt long, thin fingers trail lightly through his hair. Cool against the burning. Soothing against the pain.

"Sherlock?" He asked giddily. "Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, of course." Sherlock's voice said lightly.

"For me?" John slurred.

"Yes," He answered. "You're my heart. I can't live without my heart."

"Sherlock," John cried, his voice cracking painfully. "I'm not good…I'm not okay…I'm broken."

"I need you, John." Sherlock answered lightly. "That's enough to be getting on with, don't you think?"

John felt a smile tug at his lips and turned to stare at his flatmate freezing when he saw no one there.

"That's just adorable, Johnny Boy." Moriarty's voice cut through his hallucination. "Do you honestly think that Sherlock would ever want you again? After you lied to him? Left him for another man? He's not the forgiving type."

John turned away from him and let out a sigh as he felt the drug begin to leech from his system. His senses were still burning painfully, but his brain was finally quieting.

"Give him another dose." Moriarty sneered.

He felt something scrape across his skin sending searing pain along his nerve endings. He reacted without really even thinking. With a violent jerk, he grabbed onto the arm and bit down viciously.

"Get him off me!" Someone screamed. "Get him the fuck off me!"

He felt blows rain down on his over sensitive skin and fought against the fire racing over his skin. He bit down harder to anchor himself as the noises grew louder and louder. He suddenly felt one quick kick to the head and he collapsed back against the wall. He jerked forward again to fight against the pain but slammed his head back when he felt the water from a hose hit his skin. It was like thousands of knives cutting into him again and again and again. He couldn't tell you how long they kept the hose on or how long the noises continued, but finally, the drug seemed to dissipate from his system again and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

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Sherlock dug through the piles and piles of junk on the floor of his room cursing himself for his lack of tidiness for the twelfth time in the past five minutes. He threw papers, beakers, nicotine patches, and bags of crisps aside before his eyes fell on his quarry.

"Ah ha!" He cried pulling the pink phone out from underneath a half-burned jumper. He flew into the living room and plugged the charger into his laptop. He typed a quick reply out on his website, broke into John's and wrote something on his blog as well. He paced the five minutes for the phone to charge before firing off a flurry of texts to the number that "Jim from IT" had left him that day at Saint Bart's. He dialed the number repeatedly after that. Once…twice…six times. He was going to get an answer. He was going to get John back. Now.

After the tenth attempt, the bastard finally answered, "Sherlock, I'm a little busy right now. Can we chat later?"

"Give him to me." Sherlock growled. "Now."

"Bought and paid for, Sherlock." Moriarty said giddily. "He's my pet now."

"He's not a pet, you arrogant jack ass." Sherlock yelled.

Sherlock grimaced as Moriarty's laugh thread through the receiver. "He will be. I am working on obedience training now…he has a bit of a stubborn streak, your dear Doctor."

"I swear if you hurt him," Sherlock said. "I will rip you to pieces."

"Oh, Sherlock." Moriarty said happily. "We both know that you won't be able to catch me. I wish you luck though. If you're entertaining enough, I might just want to play with you again."

"I think we should start playing right now." Sherlock growled. "How long do you think it will take?"

"How long will it take for what?" Moriarty asked hesitantly.

"At this very moment, my new associate, William Murray, is putting the finishing touches on an efficient little task force standing about 300 meters from your current location." Sherlock said. "In about two minutes, you're going to have at least 25 very determined Interpol agents swarming over your lovely little house in Kensington. Took me seven minutes to get here by cab. It is quite nice. I think that beige window treatments are a bit mundane for you, but you can't help but admire how they match that lovely armoire in the corner."

"This isn't over, Holmes." Moriarty sneered.

"On the contrary." Sherlock answered darkly. "This is extremely over. Taking John was the last mistake you'll ever make."

He hung up the phone and turned to Bill who handed him a bulletproof vest. Sherlock quickly suited up and was just about to turn back to the home when a large hand clasped his shoulder causing him to jolt backwards.

"Woah, Sherlock." Bill said seriously. "You do remember the parameters your mother set up for you to even present during this raid, don't you?"

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and didn't answer. Luckily, Bill was more than happy to repeat them. "You're to stay here with Lestrade until the building is secure. Those are the rules. If you don't like them, I would be more than happy to demonstrate my detainment skills."

"Just get in there and save him." Sherlock said not ashamed of the desperation tinting his voice.

Bill and the men left quickly leaving Sherlock and Lestrade waiting with a walkie-talkie and the assault vehicles.

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"What do we do with him, Sir?"

"We don't have time." Moriarty said angrily. "Give him what's left. All of it."

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"How in God's name did you find the location so quickly?" Lestrade asked as they waited for the all clear. "It's only been two hours since Henry's capture."

"Use your sad, little brain, Lestrade." Sherlock answered, getting more anxious with each second. "Once we had Henry, it was child's play to get the location of the exchange point and then use the CCTV cameras to track the vehicle that carried John to this location."

"Right." Lestrade said. "Of course."

"_Lestrade? Sherlock?"_ Bill's voice crackled over the walkie talkie. _"We've found him…"_

Sherlock bolted toward the house unable to hear the remainder of Bill's message. He felt something warm and electric fizz through his system as he practically kicked the front door open. He sped past agents who quickly directed him to a storage shed in the back of the house. Letting a relieved smile tug at the corners of his mouth, he ran through the kitchen toward the garden. He rushed back out into the night air and was stopped by Bill just outside the back door.

"Sherlock, wait." Bill said sadly. "He's…"

Sherlock felt ice slide through his veins as he pushed past the distraught soldier to the storage shed. It looked like a miniature security center. There was a set of stairs leading underground and Sherlock took them three at a time. He hit the landing and turned to the open door with two agents on either side and froze at the entrance, "John...please…no…"

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**"Hello..." Couchbarnacle said, behind a wall of jumper-wearing kittens. "So...don't be mad...but I'm kind of going out of town for a week...and I don't know if I'll be able to update before I leave...so, mind the kittens and don't throw anything at my face...okay? Thanks."**


	10. Chapter 10

**Yay! I got another chapter out before my trip! Have a great week and I should be back soon!**

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He was covered in muck and blood and water. Eyes clenched shut, jaw convulsing, fangs piercing his lower lip as he shook and thrashed. The skin of his ankle was practically shredded as he jerked and pulled against the cuff. They had found the switches to turn off the speaker system and the hose that had been jimmy-rigged along the wall but it had done little to ease the obvious torture that the doctor was enduring.

"John!" Sherlock called again. "Please! John! Talk to me! Can you hear me?"

He was handcuffed himself and straining against the hold of two agents as he fought to get close to his flatmate. His initial impulse had been to run into the room and pull John to him ensuring that he was safe in his arms. The Interpol agents and Bill had been antagonistic to that plan, hence the cuffs.

"We can't sedate him." Bill said seriously. "We don't know what is coursing through his system. Vampires may be very resilient but they aren't impervious to serious damage chemically."

"Are we just supposed to wait it out?" Lestrade asked flabbergasted. "You can't be serious. Look at him. He needs help now."

"What else are we supposed to do?" Bill asked tiredly. "The one agent that attempted to approach the Doctor almost got fed on. John is completely out of his mind right now. He's not coherent, has been starved, his eyes are so sensitive that the light from a torch causes him to flinch, his sense of hearing, smell, and touch are just as overwrought. Any type of restraint would only cause further damage and distress. If you've got a better idea, then let's hear it because I don't know what else to do."

"Can't we at least give him some blood or something?" Lestrade asked. "So, he won't be hungry."

"He won't take it." Bill said. "That was one of the first things we did. He's too far gone to even recognize it as food."

"Have you contacted your boss?" Lestrade asked. "She might have ideas."

"I would," Bill said with a grimace. "But she's on a thirteen hour flight right now meeting with some important heads of state."

The room hushed as a growl cut through their conversation.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly. "John, talk to me."

"You're not real." The growl continued, brokenly. "You're not real. It's the drugs."

"Don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock said relief infusing each word. "Look at me, of course I'm real."

"I'm not falling for that this time." John said harshly.

"John," Sherlock said. "You have to come with us. We have to get you better so you can come back to Baker Street."

"I can't go back to Baker Street." John said tiredly.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Because I'm a monster." John said simply curling further in upon himself.

"You're not a monster." Sherlock said seriously.

"Selective genius." John said harshly. "Can't even recognize a complete maniac when they live in your flat. Your brother noticed."

"My brother was wrong." Sherlock said angrily.

"He seemed pretty sure during the procedure." John said with a dark laugh.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Can't tell." John said delirious. "It's a secret."

"John," Sherlock said feeling rage flood his system. "What did he do?"

"To protect you." John said. "I don't mind. It keeps you safe."

"John," Bill said, cutting in for the first time. "We have to get you out of here. Will you come with us?"

"Bill." John said. "Henry found me."

"Henry's been taken care of." Bill said darkly. "We have to leave, John."

Bill took one hesitant step into the room and the audience took a breath as John's blood red eyes snapped open and pinned Bill with a glare.

"Don't," John growled. "You're not really Bill. You're someone else. Don't come near me."

Bill backed out of the room slowly and turned back to Sherlock and Lestrade, "Any ideas? At all?"

"Call Mycroft." Sherlock said quietly.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"Call Mycroft." Sherlock repeated. "I know my brother. He's done something to John. To keep me 'safe'."

"And what exactly is he going to do from hundreds miles away?" Bill asked.

"It's an idea." Sherlock said. "It's better than anything else we have. And would someone please let me out of these handcuffs?"

Bill quickly gave the nod to release the consulting detective but the two men stayed within arm's reach. Sherlock placed the call to his brother and tried to bury the anger as the phone connected.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said lightly. "I trust you have good news."

"We can't get him out." Sherlock said cutting through the pleasantries. "He's too drugged to administer a sedative and no one can get near enough to restrain him. Now, I know you. You did something. Fix this right now and I will consider not beating you senseless the next time we're in the same city."

"I'll get in touch with Anthea right away." Mycroft said simply. "You'll have seven hours. You'll know when it's okay to transport him."

"We'll discuss your control issues when this is all cleared up." Sherlock said before hanging up.

"We'll have seven hours." Sherlock said simply.

They fell into a gloomy silence once Bill had barked some orders to his men and a team of paramedics show up with a stretcher. The minutes seemed to expand into eternity as they watched John shudder and moan in pain. Sherlock took a large step forward as John gave one much more violent jerk and his face contorted in pain. He gasped and writhed on the floor of the cellar as yelps of agony slipped through his dry cracked lips. His body went completely ridged as his eyes fluttered closed and his jaw clenched painfully. Sherlock rushed the rest of the way to his flatmate's side and collapsed on the floor. He felt something heavy crush his chest as little whimpers escaped his doctor's clenched lips. He ran his fingers lightly through John's hair and his throat swelled with anger and pain and hope. Someone used a bolt cutter to detach the cuff from the wall. They'd get the rest of it off at the hospital. The paramedics quickly loaded him onto the stretcher and Sherlock kept a light grip on John's hand as they loaded him into an ambulance and drove away.

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He sat curled up in the hospital room of a very secure, very private hospital in some undisclosed location just outside of London (well, obviously to everyone else it was undisclosed. Sherlock knew exactly where they were.). He stared at the prone figure lying on the hospital bed and then glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. It had been six hours and forty-five minutes since Mycroft's little intervention. Mycroft had sent the hospital details on the capsule and the solution of silver nitrate used to paralyze John. Sherlock looked back at the doctor. It was fascinating. If he wasn't so rattled, he would record the process and commit it to his hard drive. Four pints of blood. That was all it took for John's bruises, scraps, and cuts to begin to knit together and heal. They'd cleaned him up, wrapped him in blankets, and restrained him to the bed using cloth restraints filled with bags of silver nitrate. The bands wouldn't hurt John but the silver would weaken him enough to safely keep him in the hospital bed.

The doctors were worried. Physically, John was healing quickly. That wasn't at all hard to believe but he had yet to let go of his defense mechanism. His fangs still protruded from his top lip and when they went to check his eyes, they couldn't rate pupil dilation because his eyes were still blood red. No one was really sure what to expect when he finally came to. There were two agents stationed just inside the door of the hospital room and Sherlock ignored them valiantly. His hand was running lightly through the doctor's hair as he felt the man beneath him began to stir.

"John?" Sherlock called softly. "John, it's Sherlock. Are you awake?"

John shifted lightly and turned his face toward Sherlock's hand sighing into the touch.

"You're in a hospital." Sherlock said trying to ground John into reality. "You're safe and with me."

John jerked becoming aware of his restraints. Sherlock heard the guards whisper something into a radio as he continued to run his fingers through John's hair. "It's alright. You're fine. We just need to keep you safe until all of the drugs work their way out of your system."

He sucked in a deep breath as John's eyes flickered open and the red eyes pierced his gray-green. "John, talk to me. Please."

This wasn't right. He couldn't read John's eyes. His dark blue, expressive eyes. It was like trying to see a detailed image through fog.

"I'm sorry." John's cracked voice whispered painfully before he turned his face away.

"John, don't." Sherlock said standing to softly but firmly pull John's head back to face him. "You have to talk to me. I need you to talk to me."

"Sherlock…I can't…it's not…" John sputtered closing his eyes tightly again. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"John," Sherlock said but was cut off again by the door opening and a half dozen hospital personnel flooding the room. He was bustled out of the room and waited impatiently for the physicians to finish their tests. He twisted as the elevator doors opened to reveal Bill.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked piercing Bill with a sharp gaze.

"Sherlock…" Bill began slowly.

"Spit it out," Sherlock said. "The minute those people leave John's room, I'm going back in there and will refuse to speak with anyone so if you have something to say, you should say it now."

"I've seen the video footage." Bill said seriously.

"And?" Sherlock said, feeling something squeeze painfully in his chest.

"He killed someone." Bill said finally. "Not alone. Moriarty shot the guy first, but John drained him dry after being injured and starved."

"John's a vampire, Bill." Sherlock said, stating the obvious with distaste. "He's obviously drank blood before."

"Not from a person." Bill said firmly.

"Pardon?" Sherlock said confused.

"Never from a person." Bill said again. "Not once. Not during his time in Afghanistan when he was half-starved and trying to sew some poor bastard back together and not in London. He's never so much as bit another person before."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked. "It's perfectly natural for a vampire."

"Use that great big brain of yours, Sherlock." Bill said. "Think about the kind of bloke John is. Think about what that soldier had to come to terms with in the middle of a warzone with that sadistic bastard Henry dogging his every step. He's tried so desperately to be human then and now. And everything that he promised himself he wouldn't do, wouldn't be, well that just went right out the window."

"He's John." Sherlock said with certainty. "He'll be fine."

"I'm not saying that he won't be." Bill said. "But I'm just trying to clue your ass in to why he might not be fine at this very minute. Face it, Sherlock. You have the emotional range of tea spoon. Don't make it worse by thinking you can fix him. This has to be something he figures out on his own."

"Alright," Sherlock conceded. "I get it. But I won't leave him to do it alone."

"You better not." Bill said gravely. "Take care of him."

"You're leaving?" Sherlock asked.

"Orders." Bill said sadly. "I'll stay in touch but I do have other responsibilities. I'm going to say goodbye and then I have to go."

"Bill," Sherlock said. "This whole thing. The past week…I just wanted to say…"

"Yeah," Bill said with a sad grin. "I know."


	11. Chapter 11

**Yay! I'm back. Thanks everyone for waiting!  
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"Ah, Mr. Turner," Mycroft said evenly as he approached the cell. "Finally, we meet."

Henry lifted his head and glared at the government official standing in front of him. He had been manhandled from the location where that pain-in-the-ass, Murray, had fucked up his shoulder and knee and deposited in this silver-lined cell for two days.

"And how do you like your accommodations?" He asked genially. "It's a bit smaller than that villa on Mykonos, but it should be sufficient."

"I'm going to rip your fucking head off." Henry growled letting his fangs drop to intimidate the government twat standing in front of him.

"Four hundred years old and still as crass as the day you were turned." Mycroft tutted sadly. "But what else is to be expected from the son of an adulterous pauper?"

"How the hell did you know that?" Henry said nervously feeling a line of ice replace his spinal cord.

"It's my job to know things, Mr. Turner." Mycroft said smugly. "And I am extraordinarily fantastic at it, if I do say so myself."

"I would have to agree." A man's voice purred from a shadowed doorway at the back of the room. Henry felt anger burn through him as the man walked forward and into the dull light of the overhead fixtures.

"Sawyer," Henry said angrily. "Aren't you supposed to be bending over and begging for it from that bitch at Interpol?"

"Oh, Henry?" Sawyer said deftly avoiding taking the bait. "Still upset about that little game we played in Zurich?"

"I still got away." Henry growled.

"And I still burned your house to the ground and froze all of Swiss bank accounts." Sawyer answered with a grin. "A little birdy told me about your money troubles, Turner. Back the wrong horse?"

"I still got paid." Henry said darkly. "I fucked my little pet and got a half mil for the pleasure."

"Don't look so smug, Turner." Sawyer said heavily. "You're not here to wax nostalgic."

"But you're not going to kill me yet." Henry said assuredly. "You need something or you would have let that little shit, Holmes, take me out at the warehouse. What do you want?"

"You're going to tell us who ordered you to contact the military." Mycroft answered slowly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Henry said with a little shrug.

"Come now, Mr. Turner." Mycroft said twirling his umbrella. "We both know that you have neither the power, influence, contacts, nor intelligence to come up with that little coup on your own."

"I might be persuaded to try a little harder to remember…" Henry said with a calculating grin.

"You misunderstand me." Mycroft said turning toward a table hidden in shadow and picking up a syringe. "You are going to tell us who hired you. But by the time you do, I doubt you'll even remember your own name."

"What are you going to do?" Henry said nervously.

"It's an ingenious little cocktail." Mycroft said caressing the syringe lovingly. "I will have to send a thank you note to Mr. Moriarty for the formula. I think we'll have the information we need within the week. Your opinion, Richard?"

"Oh, definitely." Sawyer said rubbing his hand lightly over Mycroft's forearm. "Shall we get to work then?"

"Yes, let's." Mycroft answered.

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"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Murray asked with a slight grin.

"Going to see John." Sherlock said trying to push past Murray for the second time.

"No." Murray answered. "I'm going to have a private chat with my army mate and you are going to wait out here."

"Why exactly do you think I would do that?" Sherlock asked snarkily.

"Because I just handcuffed you to the guardrail." Murray answered with a happy smirk before sliding into the room, slamming the door shut, and throwing the bolt sharply. He ignored the muffled pounding of Sherlock's free hand on the door and turned to look at his friend. Bill felt his breath hiss out of him as he stared at the form lying stiffly on the hospital bed. This was John Watson. Medic, Soldier, friend. And here he was fighting the rising panic in his blood, fighting the restraints, fighting the hospital staff, fighting himself. He met that red gaze frankly and shuffled over to sit on the edge of his bed by his shackled feet.

"You look like shit." Bill said bluntly not looking away from those terrifying eyes.

"Did I hurt anyone?" John asked quietly. "I can't remember much after that first dose. Please, tell me I didn't kill someone else as well."

"No, John." Bill answered firmly. "You didn't kill anyone. Not even that first bloke. He was already dying."

"That doesn't make what I did okay, Bill." John said.

"John," Bill said, trying to control his anger. "You were fucking starving. You were injured, scared, and hungry. You couldn't help it."

"That's worse!" John said rising to meet Bill's anger. "The fact that draining that poor sod dry was so instinctive and impulsive that I didn't even fucking register what I was doing until I was covered in his blood and licking his shirt of remnants makes me even more dangerous than I thought. I'm a fucking monster."

"Shut the fuck up, Watson." Bill growled. "Don't be so predictably stupid. I won't let you say shit like that. You're better than that."

"I really should just be taken out back and shot." John answered letting self-loathing color his words.

Bill wound up and slapped John hard across the face, "You listen to me good, Watson. I don't just fucking risk my life for some fucking self-deprecating prick with the intelligence of a goldfish on meth. You're going to get better, you're going to calm the fuck down, and you're going to go back to you're crazy flat on Baker Street and regale me with stories of your insane flatmate when I come back to London to visit. You're going to do all of these things because you, John Watson, are not a quitter. You're a fucking soldier, man-up god damn it."

"Is that an order?" John asked hesitantly.

"You better your sweet ass, it is." Bill said firmly.

"Thanks Bill." John said quietly.

Bill reached forward and ruffled John's hair lightly. "Besides, who would I call to scare the shit out of my daughter's boyfriends if they get too hands-y?"

"Put my number on speed dial, Bill." John said cracking a smile.

"I better get going." Bill said wryly. "If only to uncuff that boyfriend of yours."

"Bill…" John said hesitantly. "I can't…it's not fair to him…"

"John," Bill said seriously. "I love you, mate, but I am not going to give you advice on that crazy arse. You're on your own there."

"Wanker." John huffed.

"Bitch." Bill answered arching an eyebrow. "Take care, John."

"You too, Bill."

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Moriarty sat at the desk of one of his many safe houses scattered around London and glared at the computer screen in front of him. All of that work. All of that fucking time and effort. Wasted. Wasted because of that insufferable Holmes. He may be a genius, almost as intelligent as Moriarty himself, but he was definitely wearing out his welcome. He'd been so close to breaking that little shit vampire. It would have been glorious. Now, he was left with no vampire, no house, and was half a million pounds lighter. He felt rage bubble delightfully in his gut. He pulled out his flash drive and twirled it around his fingers lightly before plugging it into his laptop. He may be coming up short in this little venture of his, but that didn't mean that he couldn't inflict a bit of pain and chaos on the boys of Baker Street.

He pulled up the video file and let it play on mute in the background.

"What do you think the men and women of Scotland Yard would think of Sherlock's pet when they see him buggered in an alleyway?" Moriarty said gleefully to himself before composing an email to every employee of the police station. He decided to include the men and women of the Armed Forces as well. Any job worth doing was worth overdoing, of course. He giggled happily and moved his cursor to send the video file when his screen rippled strangely and then froze.

He felt something heavy settle in his gut as a video screen appeared on his monitor and flashed to life. The image of a woman appeared flanked by two very official attendants on either side. The woman was tall and thin with a no-nonsense bob of white hair framing her face. Her eyes were steel grey and seemed to shred Moriarty's already tenuous grip on sanity.

"I wouldn't recommend sending that little missive, James." The woman said evenly.

"Who the hell are you?" He asked angrily.

"My name is Margaret." She answered with a smile. "And I believe you know my son, Sherlock."

Moriarty smirked and let out a little laugh. "Is Mummy going to save little Sherly from the big bad consulting criminal?"

"I said that I'm his mother, James." Margaret answered. "I didn't say I was acting on his behalf. Please keep up."

Moriarty growled at the implication, "Have a death wish, do you?"

"Hardly." Margaret answered with a little wave. "I just have a warning."

"And what could you possibly threaten me with?" Moriarty asked darkly.

"It's simple, James." She said, unfazed. "You've been hiding relatively well these past ten years. And that's mostly because you were always a shadow. Always just a rumor. No one seeing your face or knowing your patterns. But that's pretty much been thrown out the window for you. Interpol has your image and a list of your contacts. My boy, Sherlock, figured out your patterns relatively easily. I had some of my men devise a fantastic little algorithm to determine possible locations for safehouses, drop-points, etc."

Moriarty felt something cold grip his gut and close his throat.

"Good." She said continuing. "I'm glad that you understand the implications. You're only option, James, is to run. Run with everything you have because I'm coming for you and you won't find me amused by puzzles and games. I will eviscerate you without a second thought and then go have tea with my boy. So, run along, James."

With that the entire computer went black and left Moriarty sitting in the dark. He practically jumped away from the desk and made his way out into the night air. It was time to start running.

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**Next Chapter: John and Sherlock figure shit out! Yay!**

**Thanks again for reading! It gives me the warm and fuzzies inside.**


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't understand." John said hesitantly. "I'm fine. The drugs are out of my system."

"We know, Mr. Watson." The doctor began. "But policy states that any vampire unable to control their instinctual response is either not allowed on the premises or have to be restrained while receiving care."

"But I don't require care." John protested. "My lacerations are all healed. I can be discharged."

"Unfortunately," The doctor continued. "The fact that you can't seem to revert to normal physiological characteristics is considered a serious psychological disorder meaning that you do still require care. You aren't able to be discharged until we can get you back to normal."

"So, you're just going to keep me like this?" John asked incredulously.

"It is for your own good, Mr. Watson." The doctor said apologetically. "You've been here for less than twelve hours. We are hopeful that we will be able to discharge within the next twenty-four hours."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do to fix this?" John asked.

"We are sending up a very qualified psychologist to begin sessions immediately." The doctor said. "She should be up here within ten minutes or so."

With that, the doctor patted John's ankle gently and walked out of the room. John collapsed back against the pillows squirming with tension. He wanted out of here. He didn't want to be lying in a hospital bed again. Restrained again. He just wanted to go back home. Over the past four hours, he had tried everything he could think of to fix this: deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, distraction techniques. He was still unable to shake the tension that was coiled tightly along the length of his spine. He wasn't sure what exactly his body was freaking out about, but it was insistent that there was something near that was dangerous to him. Stupid defense mechanism.

Because of the silver, his brain felt fuzzy and his entire being felt heavy and nonresponsive. Slight, involuntary tremors were running through his body as well. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against the juxtaposition of silver-laden limbs and adrenaline-infused nerve endings. He heard the door to his room open quietly and took a few deep breaths to try to calm his fidgeting form down but jerked anyway when cool fingers ran lightly across his cheek bone.

"Sorry," John said turning away slightly to hide his features. "Sorry, Sherlock. I'm just a bit tightly wound at the moment."

He heard Sherlock lower himself onto the chair pulled up next to his bed, "I read your file."

"Did you, now?" John said. "Anything interesting?"

"They won't let you leave until you get all de-vampified." Sherlock answered.

"Is that the medical term?" John asked with a huff of laughter.

"I'd guess not but it was the actual term used in the chart." Sherlock said, a smile evident from his vocal pattern.

Sherlock reached out again and closed his hand around John's restrained one. John didn't jerk away but instead maneuvered his digits to interlock them with Sherlock's.

"I don't know what to do." John said quietly.

"This doesn't happen often?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

"I honestly don't know.' John answered. "It has never happened to me before but I don't know about other vampires. Henry…" John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Henry is the only other vampire I know."

"John…" Sherlock said quietly. "When I said that I read your file…"

"You meant more than just my medical file, didn't you?" John replied. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Why didn't you?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"How do you tell someone that their flatmate is a blood-sucking freak who was turned because of some military operation gone wrong and was currently in hiding from his completely psychopathic maker?" John said darkly. "No, I couldn't. I was more than happy to pretend that I was normal again. Just some bloke that followed around a consulting genius and carried his mobile for him."

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock said quietly.

"For what?" John asked incredulously. "You found me."

"I should have known that there was something not right about Henry." Sherlock said. "It's what I do. I observe things, but I couldn't see past the situation. I didn't take your leaving well and you suffered for it."

"Sherlock," John said squeezing his fingers gently and turning to face him for the first time since he'd awoken in the hospital. "What I went through was in no way your fault. I suffered because of a pair of sadistic bastards. You found me. You saved me."

"Murray and Lestrade were there as well." Sherlock said attempting to change the subject.

"Then they will get a fruit basket too." John answered with another light squeeze.

"John…" Sherlock began slowly. "I have a question."

"Go ahead." John said feeling something unpleasant coming.

"I just…I haven't ever…" Sherlock stumbled. "I've never been this well acquainted with…"

"You want to do some experiments, don't you?" John finished for him with a wry grin.

"We can wait, of course." Sherlock added quickly. "But it would be invaluable to my knowledge. There is only so much one can learn from second hand accounts."

"It's fine, Sherlock." John said. "But I don't know how long I'll be here so you better get started."

"We can just do them at Baker Street." Sherlock said with a wave of his other hand. "There are too many extraneous variables in this environment."

"Baker Street?" John asked feeling something tight coil around his heart. He turned his face away before continuing. "Sherlock…I'm not…I can't…"

"John," Sherlock said firmly cutting him off. "Don't be an idiot. You're coming back to Baker Street."

"Sherlock." John said painfully. "I'm not human."

He practically leapt out of his skin when he felt the bed shift and turned his gaze to find Sherlock straddling his hips on the hospital bed and leaning over him mere inches from his mouth. John felt something lodge firmly in his throat as Sherlock closed those few inches to place a light, feathery kiss to each of his protruding fangs.

"I've been reliably informed I'm not human either, John." Sherlock purred, but his gaze was serious. "We seem to be a perfect match."

"Sherlock," John said painfully around the weight filling his throat.

"No," Sherlock said firmly. "No thinking. Just kiss me."

John stared into Sherlock's sharp gaze and let him close those few inches again. He felt warmth flow into him as he took Sherlock's languid kisses.

"I can't even touch you." John said, irritated pulling against the restraints again.

"I can fix that." Sherlock purred leaving a line of soft kisses along his jaw. Sherlock dropped back onto his heels and made quick work of the restraints before sliding up and stealing John's mouth again. John murmured happily as he finally got his hands in those silky, black curls. He wanted this, wanted all of it for as long as he could have it. He let his fingers graze lightly along the angles of his flatmate's lean form and sighed with delight as Sherlock's kiss deepened sending pulses of heat through his system.

"I'm yours, John." Sherlock whispered into his mouth. "I'm yours. Please, don't leave me."

And just like that, the tension that had been stifling him snapped and he felt every feeling except joy drain out of him. Sherlock felt the change and immediately pulled John close as the vampire's body collapsed with relief. They stayed like that for awhile. John reveled in the feeling of Sherlock's strong, human heart pulsing against his ear. He let everything that was Sherlock surround him. Exhaustion followed quickly and he felt sleep tugging at his consciousness. Sherlock arranged himself around John's form and curled close as he finally dropped off to sleep.

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John shifted in his sleep and Sherlock watched with something suspiciously like elation sliding through his veins. His doctor had been asleep for close to twelve hours now. It wasn't incredibly surprising given the trauma John had suffered and the sedatives that were being pumped through his IV. Sherlock had been forced to return to the hospital chair after the nurse had found them a few hours after John fell asleep. Sitting by his side, with his hand curled protectively around John's restraint-free one, Sherlock watched his doctor sleep with a fascination that he had never attributed to anything still breathing before. He had his John. He would come home and be with Sherlock and they'd catch criminals and spend evenings watching crap telly and eating take-aways.

He knew the second John threw off his sleep and tested the freedom of his limbs. He also knew the second John figured out why he was no longer restrained as that lovely tongue slipped out to run smoothly across his teeth.

"How do you do that?" John asked turning to look at Sherlock with those lovely, dark blue eyes.

"Do what?" Sherlock asked, trying to ignore the warm weight settling in his gut.

"Fix me without even trying?" John said, his familiar smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"It's incredibly simple, John." Sherlock answered.

"Is it?" John said, rising quickly to sit on the edge of the bed across from Sherlock. "Out with it, then."

"Because you're not broken." Sherlock said softly. "I just have to remind you every now and then."

John practically jumped at him pulling him into a deep kiss and letting his tongue run lightly across Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock opened his mouth at the not very subtle suggestion and pulled his doctor close letting his hands run lightly through the blond hair.

"Let's go home." John said finally pulling away to stare at Sherlock with those captivating blue eyes.

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**Yay! Only a couple more chapters left until I wrap up In Vein. But let me know if you'd be interested in a sequel! Thanks again for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay, I want to preface this chapter by saying that no therapist in their right mind would EVER recommend this as an actual treatment for intimacy issues. But if you can't think a little outside the box in the fictional world, then life isn't really worth living, is it? I hope you enjoy!  
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"Really?" John asked curiously.

"Yes, John." Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

"Why?" John said.

"It will be incredibly helpful." Sherlock answered.

"But, right now?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock, it's three in the morning."

"I'm well aware of the time, John."

"Can't we do this tomorrow?"

"I would really prefer that we do it now."

"He's asleep."

"That's probable."

"So, why, at three in the morning are we going all the way across town to wake up Lestrade so I can tell you exactly what I think he smells like?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it does sound a bit ridiculous."

"Thank you." John said collapsing back onto his pillow. "Go away, you complete prat. I'll see you in the morning…well, later in the morning."

"Fine." Sherlock sniffed. "Sleep well, John."

Sherlock knelt down and stole a sweet kiss from John before leaving the room and pulling the door closed behind him. He wandered back downstairs to curl up on the couch and pluck at his violin thoughtfully. He surveyed the file that was open on his laptop perching haphazardly on a box of pepper spray bottles on the coffee table. He'd developed this file to organize all of his new data on John. There was so much more to observe about his flatmate. It had been three weeks since they returned home and Sherlock already had seventy-five pages of new observations. He had them divided into five separate documents. There was the document devoted to actual experiments that John let Sherlock perform regarding his enhanced senses and unique nutritional requirements. Then, there was the document for the interview that John agreed to regarding his abilities pre- and post-change. There was a document about John's opinions regarding positive and negative effects since the change. Sherlock also had created a file for future inquiries and experiments that he would like to discuss with John. This folder seemed to grow exponentially.

The last document made Sherlock pluck a little more harshly on the delicate strings before setting his violin aside and pulling the laptop to rest precariously on his knees. John wasn't aware of this last document and Sherlock was very careful about keeping it that way. He frowned at the document as he pulled it up and let his eyes focus on the title.

_Negative Effects Following the Henry/Moriarty Incident_

He stared at the list and sighed heavily before making a few adjustments and updates.

_1) Minimum personal space requirement increased from 1 meter to 1.5 meters. exempt._

_2) Refusal to allow to observe his sustenance regimen regarding hemoglobin. (Unable to determine John's willingness to allow to observe pre-incident.)_

_3) Increased nightmare prevalence to an average of four nightmares per week._

_4) Refusal to allow to share sleeping quarters citing a fear of harming during the nightmares._

_5) Experiences panic attacks 64% of the time when exposed to discordant noises including but not limited to fire alarms, transport horns between 79-140 decibels, explosions via television, radio, or real life, and severely out of tune church bells._

_6) Hesitant regarding physical interactions with others excluding handshakes. All other forms of physical interactions are avoided if possible. exempt._

_7) Hesitant regarding most types of sexual intimacy excluding holding hands, kissing, and cuddling._

Sherlock sat and pondered that last item for several more minutes before closing the document and shutting down his laptop. He was just about to wander back into the kitchen to work on his experiment regarding the flammability of dryer lint soaked in orange juice when his phone pinged.

"Hello, Mummy." Sherlock said happily.

"Good morning, my dear boy." She answered. "How are you and Dr. Watson since the last time we spoke?"

"It's wonderful having him back." Sherlock said warmly. "Though I did speak with you just a few days ago, so I can't really report any major changes."

"I just worry, dear." She said. "Your happiness means so much to me and I must say I feel extraordinarily drawn to your doctor as well."

"Yes," Sherlock answered. "He does seem to have that affect on people. How is Bill?"

"Splendid." She said. "He sends his regards. Unfortunately, he is in a situation where radio-silence is imperative but whenever we do connect, he always asks about you both."

"This doesn't have anything to do with that fascinating little situation in Peru, does it?"

"Tut tut, dear." Mummy said. "You're not supposed to know anything about that."

"How could I help but get curious when the whole affair hinged on the testimony of a crooked postal worker with a stress-induced stutter and a ball of yellow twine?" He asked unabashedly.

"I do love your thirst for knowledge," She said. "But…"

Sherlock heard a sort of muffled cry coming from the upstairs bedroom and immediately began running up the steps, "I'm sorry, Mummy, but I have to go."

"Oh, dear." She said. "Give John my best and don't forget to give him time, Sherlock. His psychological recovery is not as easy to fix."

"I know." Sherlock answered before ending the call and opening the door to John's room. He turned on the lights and opened the window to let in some fresh air before kneeling next to the bed and running his fingers gently through his soft blond hair. John was curled in a fetal position with his face to the wall and shuddering. He was attempting to bite back little, stifled cries but every so often a strangled noise slipped through his clenched teeth.

"John." He said quietly. "John, you have to wake up. It's just a nightmare. Come back to me, John. No one can hurt you."

He breathed a sigh of relief as John's body began to stir and he stretched out to lay flat on his back before turning to face the consulting detective blinking rapidly and focusing on his face.

"That's not what my nightmare was about." John said roughly before reaching out and tracing the sharp cheekbones of his flatmate.

"Will you tell me?" Sherlock asked hopefully. John had been incredibly secretive about the contents of his nightmares over the past couple of weeks. Sherlock had, of course, seen all of the video footage collected from the shed in Kensington and had several well-reasoned deductions regarding the possible contents of these nightmares, but felt that he shouldn't push John about them. If John wanted to share, then he would. Until then, Sherlock was just going to have to suck it up and wait.

"Come here." John said sliding over so that Sherlock could climb in with him. John curled around the consulting detective letting his head rest on Sherlock's chest before he continued. "I'd never drunk from a human before."

A heavy sigh escaped from John and he curled even tighter around Sherlock. "But I'm sure you already knew that."

"Murray may have mentioned something during our little escapade." Sherlock hedged quietly.

"Of course he did." John answered before stroking Sherlock's ribs lightly. "I didn't…expect or anticipate…the physiological responses to the actual event."

"It felt good?" Sherlock prompted when John didn't continue.

"It was…that is…I kind of…" John stuttered before taking a deep breath and whispering, "I was aroused."

"Oh." Sherlock answered dumbly as the image of John aroused seemed to short-circuit everything else in his brain.

"Yeah." John said. "So, in my nightmares, I'm drinking from someone, it could be anyone. Someone we talked to that day or someone from the army or someone from my past and it's always the same. Attack them, get aroused, bleed them dry. But then, whenever I pull away, the person that I've just killed…it's you. Every time. You're dead and I'm screaming and then they take me away and light me on fire or cut off my head or drown me in boiling hot silver."

"John…" Sherlock said quietly, letting his fingers run along his forearm.

"That's why." John cut in. "That's why I can't let you sleep with me and I can't get aroused, because I could hurt you. Really hurt you and I never want to do that. Ever."

Sherlock pushed away the lump in his throat before answering, "Do you trust me, John?"

"Yes, of course." John replied. "But I can't trust myself just yet. It's still too close."

"So this feeling only occurs when you become aroused, correct?" Sherlock continued.

"I don't know." He answered. "I haven't felt…that…since the whole thing happened."

"So you don't know if that would even occur?" Sherlock asked.

"I guess not." John said hesitantly.

"I would like to propose an experiment." Sherlock said. "Only if you're comfortable, of course."

"What are the parameters?" John asked.

"I think we need to determine if you have any extraneous behaviors occur when you become aroused."

"That's not a good idea at all." John argued.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked. "I'll stay out of it. Just have a wank and let me document the results."

"You are not going to watch me masturbate and document your findings." John said baffled.

"Well," Sherlock purred. "It would also serve the dual purpose of letting me watch you get off which I have wanted to do for almost six months now."

"Sherlock," John said pulling away to sit against the headboard and stare at his flatmate. "That's completely insane."

"You don't have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable." Sherlock said evenly. "It's merely a suggestion."

"You can't honestly want to watch me wank." John said feeling his face turn red.

"John," Sherlock said seriously. "I enjoy watching you floss every morning. The idea of watching you masturbate has me half-hard already. Now do you want to try this or not?"

"We can stop anytime?" John asked.

"You can do whatever you want." Sherlock said sliding out from beneath the covers. He walked the short distance to the chest of drawers in John's room and perched there staring at his doctor. "I'm just going to sit here."

"This is completely mad." John said.

"Feel free to begin at any time." Sherlock said happily.

John stared at his flatmate for several minutes as he wrestled with the implications of this particularly unique type of intimacy therapy. He wanted to get past this so badly, but he was terrified that something would go wrong or he'd go completely psycho and attack someone. Sherlock was a bloody genius but his sense of self-preservation was practically in the negative digits. He sighed heavily before turning to his bedside table and extracting his gun from the top drawer. He pulled the clip out of the drawer below and slid it home with a sharp click.

"If anything wonky happens," John said seriously holding the gun out to Sherlock. "Shoot me. Not anywhere particularly important, but shoot me."

"John," Sherlock said taken aback. "I am not going to shoot you."

"That's the only way I am going to even attempt this." John said. "Promise me."

"This is entirely unnecessary," Sherlock huffed but took the gun anyway. "I promise."

"Good." John said shifting awkwardly on the bed.

"Just relax, John." Sherlock said from his corner.

"I really don't need commentary during this, Sherlock." John said grumpily. "I've just never had an audience before."

"Okay." Sherlock said. "I'm coming over there just for a second and then I'll go back to my corner."

"Alright." John said hesitantly.

Sherlock walked across the room and pulled John into a heart-wrenching kiss as he ran his hands through the blond hairs at the base of John's neck. He kissed and licked his way across John's jaw before latching lightly onto his doctor's earlobe. He felt John tense against him and heard him gasp and moan leaning into the feel of Sherlock's tongue sucking gently.

"Got it." John's voice croaked out. "Yeah, I'm there."

"Show me, John." Sherlock purred before drawing back to sit on the dresser not taking his eyes off John.

John lay back against the pillows and reached down to palm his cock lightly. He felt his nerve endings fire happily as his erection grew beneath his palm.

"I lied, okay?" John whispered. "Talk to me. Please Sherlock."

He shoved his pajamas bottoms and pants down roughly past his knees running his fingers up and down his shaft.

"I never did tell you why I kissed you that day, did I?" Sherlock purred seductively, sending a wave of shivers through John's body and helping his cock stand at attention. He gripped it firmly and began pumping lightly drawn in by the sound of Sherlock's voice. "Why I needed to feel you against me. The way you made me moan and gasp as your cock slid against mine. How it felt to have you grind against me biting and licking. The way you pulled those groans out of me as your hand gripped my cock. There are so many things I want to do with you, John. I want to take your cock in my mouth…"

John felt his hips twitch and jump as he began pumping in earnest as the memories of Sherlock rutting against him sent wave after wave of warmth through his body. He felt a gasp escape as he flicked his hand over the head of his erection and thumbed at the slit.

"Oh, god." Sherlock breathed. "I'm so hard right now."

Heat skittered across his skin as a heavy weight settled in his gut. He began bucking erratically and saw sparks against his eyelids as he thrust roughly a half a dozen more times before he arched against the sheets and came all over his hand. He lay there in a post-coital haze as he tried to regulate his ragged breathing.

"How are you?" Sherlock said tensely.

"Come here." John muttered for the second time that morning.

"I don't think that's the best idea." Sherlock breathed.

"Now." John demanded.

Sherlock limped over and knelt by the side of the bed. John wasted no time grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him down to kiss him roughly. He licked the inside of Sherlock's mouth and sighed as he ran his hands down Sherlock's chest to palm his erection. Sherlock bucked wildly before pulling away.

"John…" He murmured.

"Fuck, Sherlock." John's voice came out as a sultry growl. "I've missed this. Missed you. So much."

He pulled Sherlock onto the bed and practically threw him onto his back. He crawled over him and slid a hand down his pants, smiling as Sherlock groaned into the touch. He let Sherlock pull him down into a messy kiss as Sherlock began bucking against the touch. He felt Sherlock wrap his hand around John's wrist as the detective began writhing against the sheets and gasping loudly as John began pumping harder flicking his wrist to rub against Sherlock's tip.

"Oh, god." Sherlock breathed. "Oh god…John...John!"

Sherlock arched against the sheets and John felt warm semen coat his hand.

"Kiss me." Sherlock pleaded as he tried to slow his breathing. John leaned down and kissed Sherlock warmly before lying down next to him on the bed.

John began giggling helplessly as he felt Sherlock place a kiss gently against his temple.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"That was…unconventional." John said with a grin.

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**Smutty smut smut.**

**The next chapter might actually have a whiff of plot somewhere...**


	14. Chapter 14

**So...final chapter. I hope that you like it!  
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_3 Months Later_

"How exactly am I supposed to explain this if we get caught?" Lestrade asked rubbing his eyes roughly.

"Don't worry so much," Sherlock sniffed as he looked over the map again making sure that every detail was perfect.

"What's the probability that this might actually set his entire office on fire?" John asked standing next to him.

"Approximately 27%." Sherlock said with a wave.

"Pranking Mycroft is something that I'm fine with." Lestrade said evenly. "But burning down a government stronghold makes me nervous, Sherlock."

"Marshmallows, huh?" Sawyer said from behind them causing Lestrade and Sherlock to jump. John, of course, had heard him entering the flat.

"That's the plan." John said. "How do you think that he will respond to having them expand to fill his entire office?"

"Can I make a suggestion?" Sawyer said with a devilish grin.

"If you must." Sherlock frowned. Sherlock had trouble warming up to Sawyer. Of course, Sherlock had trouble warming up to most people, but Sawyer definitely wasn't on his Top Ten People to Get to Know list. Mostly because he was sleeping with Mycroft.

"Why don't you do this in public?" Sawyer said. "It would be much more effective if you did it at the state dinner next month."

"Aren't you going to be at that state dinner?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. "I highly doubt that you would prefer to be covered in marshmallows."

"To see the look on his face." Sawyer with that grin. "I would let you cover me in peanut butter and lock me in a pen with hungry dogs."

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"That was not funny." Mycroft said grumpily to the four men giggling helplessly in his living room.

Sawyer rose from his perch by the fireplace and pulled Mycroft into a light kiss before licking at the marshmallow on his cheek, "It was a little funny."

Mycroft was still glaring slightly but his heart wasn't in it. It had almost been worth it to see the look on the representative of the Treasury's face as the liquefied sugar fell from the roof. He leaned forward and kissed Sawyer's lips one more time before stepping back to stare at his brother.

"Are we even yet, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.

"Not even close." Sherlock said with that smug look plastered all over his face.

Mycroft sighed but didn't put up a fight. If the worst that Sherlock was going to subject him to was mildly embarrassing social engagements, he wasn't going to complain overly loudly. He suspected, though, that he had John to thank for his brother's obvious restraint.

He let his eyes focus on the army doctor for a few seconds to analyze his recovery. He had regular reports from the security detail about any major changes going on at 221B Baker Street, but occasionally preferred to see the facts with his own eyes. He was much more observant after all. He'd received reports that John was becoming more comfortable with his abilities and, instead of hiding them away, was utilizing them to assist Sherlock and Scotland Yard. John was still looking a bit tired (issues with nightmares, no doubt), a bit tense with others than he was before the incident, and jumped slightly when discordant noises assaulted his extrasensory hearing. What made Mycroft smile, however, was how often the doctor and his brother found excuses to connect physically. Whether it was a casual brush of shoulders or comforting touch of fingers, they rarely went more than a half hour without some physical contact.

Mycroft decided it was worth it: taking the punishment that Sherlock was liberally dolling out in exchange to see his younger brother so content.

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John stood against the worktop in the kitchen and felt his heart hammer against his chest. He could hear Sherlock working on a laptop (most likely John's) in the living area. He'd been ruminating about this for the past week and a half. He was going to do it and it was going to be great. He just had to work up the courage to mention it to Sherlock.

"Sherlock." He called wincing as his voice broke awkwardly and he called again in a clearer voice, "Sherlock."

"Yes, John?" Sherlock said absentmindedly as he updated his website.

"I think I'm ready." John said feeling sweat break out against his skin.

"I'm not hungry for dinner, but feel free to get a take-away, I promise to take a few bites." Sherlock answered.

"No." John said feeling his chest deflate a bit. "That's not what I meant."

"I deduce everything John, but I can't read minds." He called. "Could you be a bit more specific."

Right, this was embarrassing. John steeled himself and turned to stand in the doorway to the living area. He swallowed heavily as Sherlock's eyes flickered over him and his mouth dropped open slightly, "Oh."

"Yeah." John said ducking his head and shifting from foot to foot.

"Oh," Sherlock said again before almost tossing the computer to the floor and stalking towards John. He pulled him into a heated kiss sending wave after wave of hot delight through his nerve endings. He felt the tension that had made him so nervous drain away under his flatmate's precise and caring fingers. He moaned as Sherlock's tongue caressed his and licked at his teeth. John ran his hands over Sherlock's lower back and arse smiling into the kiss as he felt Sherlock shudder against him. Sherlock grabbed at John's hips pulling them flush against each other before breaking the kiss to stare into John's eyes. "John, we don't have to."

"I want to." John said placing a gentle kiss on his neck. "I don't want my only memory of something so good to be of that complete twat. I want you inside me. I want to feel you come inside me."

He felt Sherlock's knees buckle and held him up by his waist, "Fuck, John."

"Exactly, Sherlock." John purred before licking and sucking on the detective's neck again.

"If at any time," Sherlock panted. "You want to stop…"

"I know." John said. "Just please, take me to bed."

Sherlock pulled him back up to crush their mouths together for a few seconds before practically dragging John back to his bedroom. They happily helped each other out of their clothes and John stopped to stare at the man standing before him feeling appreciation and admiration seep through him. Sherlock took a step towards him and ran his fingertips over John's kiss-bruised lips before pulling him close again for a kiss. John's heart almost stopped when he felt something more than just arousal and excitement permeate the room. It felt like…well, like a promise. A beautiful, wonderful, humbling promise. John shivered with the intensity of the kiss and pulled Sherlock backward to the bed.

He let Sherlock lower him to the sheets breaking the kiss only to gasp for air before falling back into each other over and over and over again. He pulled one of Sherlock's hands away from his neck and guided him lower and lower until he had Sherlock's hand caressing his arse.

"Please," John breathed meeting Sherlock's gaze.

"I have to ask, John." Sherlock panted trying to shake off the pleasure haze that was dulling his mind. "Are you sure?"

"I promise that I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable," John said seriously. "But I want this. I need this. I need you, Sherlock."

"I need you too, John." Sherlock said brokenly. "So much."

He leaned over John again to kiss him lightly on the temple before reaching over to his bedside table and pulling out a tube of lubricant. He rocked back on his heels to kneel in front of John. John felt his heart flutter in excitement and his cock twitch in anticipation as he drew his knees up and spread his legs.

"You're so gorgeous, John." Sherlock said, mesmerized by the man lying in front of him. He popped the cap on the lubricant and covered his fingers liberally never losing eye contact with his doctor.

"Just talk me through it, okay?" John said breathlessly. "Just keep talking to me."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the inside of John's knees before leaning down a bit, "I'm going to start slow. Just to get you used to the feeling of my touch there, alright?"

"Yeah, alright." John said, tracking Sherlock's every movement.

"I'm going to touch you, John."

Sherlock ran a finger lightly between John's arse brushing over his entrance. John jerked at the touch and Sherlock pulled away, "How are you?"

"Good," John said breathing a bit heavily. "I'm good."

"I'm going to touch your entrance again." He purred, "Keep telling me how you're doing."

Sherlock traced his finger over John again letting his digits rub lightly in tiny circles and he couldn't help but grin as John shivered and let out a breathy moan, "Oh, god."

"Are you ready for me to penetrate?" Sherlock asked trying desperately to ignore the aching hardness between his own legs.

"Just slowly." John said. "Just go slow."

"Just take a deep breath, John." Sherlock guided. "This always feels a bit strange."

"Right." John breath. "Okay."

"Here we go." Sherlock said quietly.

He placed his forefinger at John's entrance and applied just a hint of pressure before meeting John's gaze again. He pushed in slowly and gently letting the lube do most of the work. John was tight, tighter than he should be and he glanced at the doctor with a wary expression.

"Just relax, John." Sherlock said soothingly. "Use your safe word if you want me to stop."

"Yeah," John replied. "Okay…relax…I can do that."

Sherlock felt John take a few deep breaths and pressed in a bit more at the last exhale of the fourth breath. His finger slid past the first ring of muscle and clutched at him tightly. Sherlock felt his mind explode with the sensation and he began panting lightly.

"I'm going…" Sherlock said, his train of thought faltering at the warmth. "I'm going to start opening you up a bit. Just keep taking deep breaths and tell me how you're feeling."

"I feel good." John whispered. "It feels good, keep going."

Sherlock twisted his finger slowly and smiled as John groaned at the pressure on his prostate. "Fuck! Is that supposed to feel that way?"

"Oh, John." Sherlock said massaging the area. "We're just getting started."

He worked slowly pressing kisses to John's nearest skin as he worked one then two then three fingers into his doctor talking softly as he felt John slowly relax into the increase in pressure.

"How are you?" Sherlock asked breathily.

"Wonderful." John said brokenly as the pleasure centers of his brain short-circuited with delight.

"It might be easiest if I get you off first." Sherlock said. "That way your body will be more relaxed."

"I don't want that." John said firmly. "Because then everything will be a bit numb. I want to memorize the feel of you in me. I need this."

"God, John." Sherlock said shakily.

"Come here." John whispered silkily. "I need to kiss you."

Sherlock crawled forward keeping his already over-sensitized cock away from any type of friction. He felt very tiny tremors running through John's skin as they kissed deeply. He pulled back to study his doctor's eyes and felt hesitancy slow his actions.

"I'm alright, Sherlock." John said caressing the detective's curls. "I'm fine. I'm ready. Please."

"I never want to hurt you." Sherlock said simply resting his forehead against John's. "I don't want you to be afraid of this."

"You won't and I'm not." John said firmly.

"It might be more comfortable on your stomach…" Sherlock said pulling back.

"NO." John said harshly. "I mean no, that's how…with Henry…I can't…"

"Alright." Sherlock said running his hand gently over John's stomach. "Alright. Take a few deep breaths while I get ready."

Sherlock leaned back and took a few deep breaths as well. He knew he wasn't going to last long, preparing John was one of the sexiest things he had ever done. He poured lube on his cock and made sure it was covered liberally before leaning toward John and placing a pillow under his hips.

"Are you ready?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." John said quietly.

Sherlock lined up and pushed against John's entrance lightly while keeping his eyes firmly on John's face. John's hands scrambled over the duvet looking for purchase before gripping them painfully turning his knuckles white instantly.

"John?"

"Keep going. I'm fine."

"John…"

"Stop bloody asking me and do it already! I promised I would use my safe word if I wanted to stop! Now get the fuck inside me, now!"

Sherlock placed a kiss to his stomach lightly before pushing in a little farther and groaning as the heat of John's body enveloped his erection inch by inch.

"Fuck." Sherlock breathed. "Oh, god. Fuck."

"That feels…that feels…" John stumbled. "Oh…that feels...different."

"Good different or bad different." Sherlock panted heavily.

"More." John groaned. "I need more."

Sherlock pushed farther in and felt his whole body quiver with pleasure because this felt so fucking good and so right and so perfect.

He pushed in to the hilt and completely lost his ability to form coherent thought as a million details attacked his senses. He could feel John surround his cock with warmth and heat and pressure as he began rolling his hips slowly.

He felt John shudder under him as Sherlock brushed his prostate, "FUCK! Oh god, do that again!"

Sherlock began thrusting and rolling his hips gently as he almost bit clean through his lip to stave off the warm coil of pleasure at the base of his cock. John did not help the situation by writhing deliciously and moaning heavily into Sherlock's every movement.

"John," Sherlock said through clenched teeth. "Touch yourself. Oh god, fuck…please. I want to be inside you when you come."

Sherlock continued rocking and thrusting as John began wanking off beneath him and Sherlock had never seen anything more arousing than the sight of John beneath him, skin flushed, eyes dilated, cock bobbing with each thrust and roll. Sherlock made sure to add to John's pleasure by brushing by John's prostate with every thrust.

John's hips began pulsing and jerking as he neared climax and Sherlock bit back a scream as John moaned loudly with a thumb to his slit.

"Sherlock…oh Sherlock…yes…yes…yesyesyesyes…AW SHERLOCK!"

John's orgasm raced through his body causing his muscles to contract deliciously around Sherlock's cock making the detective yelp and shout John's name before following him into orgasmic bliss with four rough thrusts into John. He pulled out gently and collapsed on the bed next to his doctor before pulling the smaller man onto his chest and clutching him tightly as the shivers of John's orgasm ebbed.

"John, are you alright." Sherlock breathed heavily.

"Yeah." John said quietly into Sherlock's chest. "I'm fine."

"Look at me, John." Sherlock said pulling at his doctor's chin.

John swallowed heavily and faced the detective with a small smile.

"Tell me what you're thinking?" Sherlock whispered kissing John's temple lightly.

"I just…" John hesitated. "I'm just shocked."

"About what?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"That someone like you would want something like me." John said quietly.

"Don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock said with a slight smile. "We were made for each other."

"Really?" John said. "A genius consulting detective and a vampire doctor?"

"Of course." Sherlock said confidently. "I've never been more positive about anything in my life."

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**Definitely going to work on a sequel.**

**I would just like to thank everyone for reading! The response has been wonderful and I think you all are utterly brilliant!**


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